


Broken Crane, Triumphant Tiger

by wyrdGeometries



Category: Exalted, Homestuck
Genre: AU, Crossover, Gen, Pesterlog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-16 18:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2280279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrdGeometries/pseuds/wyrdGeometries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Terezi Pyrope, one of the demigods mortals call the Exalted, discovers that her old enemy Vriska Serket is alive and returning to Chiaroscuro, their resurgent conflict quickly draws in many of the active Exalted in the area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. GR1SLYCL4V1CUL4R1US

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Exalted, the** : The chosen of the gods  
>  **Exaltation** : Moment at which a mortal becomes Exalted (Second Breath), or alternative word used to refer to the Spark of Divinity that gives an Exalt power. At death, this spark reincarnates in a new host  
>  **Circle** : A group of exalts representing all five castes; lunars use packs instead, as they have only three castes  
>  **Anathema** : A Celestial Exalt; according to the dragon-blooded religion preached throughout Creation Celestial Exalts are demons called anathema; this widespread belief forces most such exalts to hide, at least for a time  
>  **Infernal** : An exalt given power by the Demon-Princes (Yozi) of Malfeas. A deal is made with a proxy demon infused with the exaltation who then merges physically and spiritually with the mortal in question to uplift the mortal to Exalted status. Traits from the demon carry over  
>  **Reclamation** : The Plan for the lords of Hell to escape their prison and reclaim Creation  
>  **Realm, the** : Creation's dominant Empire, ruled by the Scarlet Empress and the Great Houses of the Dragon-Blooded Dynasty  
>  **Dragon-Blooded, the** : An exalt empowered by the Five Immaculate Dragons with elemental powers. Weakest exalt but only exalt whose children may inherit exaltation  
>  **Chiaroscuro** : A wealthy vassal state of the Realm known for its green glass used for excellent weaponry and armour, and the primary haunt of Karkat Vantas and his circle

##### REALM YEAR 792

Terezi Pyrope was interrupted in the middle of her drink, a red cocktail of alcohol and tomato pulp, by the arrival of a detachment of Realm heavy infantry. Actually, she'd smelled their trepidation before they'd even surrounded the building, but she wasn't worried. She could smell their wavy insignias, purple on blue, and failed to suppress a high-pitched giggle. She darted out her tongue to taste the colours swirling in the air around her and could smell their mortal blood even past the sweet red of her drink. Eridan Ampora had sent them, that much was obvious even before they barged through front and back doors, shattering them off their hinges as they filed in to surround the seated Exalt in a hedge of spears and swords, and he had made the critical mistake of sending them without a single Dragon-blood.

One of the soldiers took a step forward, distinguishing himself as the ranking officer amongst these troops. She gave a single sniff in his direction, then grinned widely at him, with a row of sharklike teeth. The Talon-Lord, by his coloration, to his credit didn't flinch.

"You are Terezi Pyrope, ma'am?"

"Sure." She centered herself in the booth and leant on her dragon-headed cane of dull brass.

"We have orders to take you in." He said in a voice that didn't invite discussion. "Please come with us."

"Is this an arrest?"

"Only if you decline the invitation, miss Pyrope." He wasn't bad at this for a mortal. 

She smirked. "Am I correct in assuming you were sent by one Eridan of House Ampora?"

The slightest hesitation. Yes. "No, ma'am." He cleared his throat. "Please come with us."

A few calculations. A dynast wanted her taken into custody; this particular dynast was aware she was anathema already. Nothing to lose from resisting arrest on that point; conversely, with proper preparation the Realm might actually be able to hold her captured. She briefly weighed the lives of these soldiers against her own. The outcome was never really in any doubt.

"Walk away, gentlemen." She simply responded and returned to her drink. She smelled the officer turn to his troops and give the slightest nod. She sighed.

The Malefactor Caste is not primarily a warrior caste; they are the priests of the Infernal Exalted, enforcers of the cruel laws of the Yozi Cecelyne, who is called the Endless Desert; but just because they are not warriors does not mean they cannot fight. Lifting her blind gaze, Terezi Pyrope felt the essence of the sand beneath the building, the scurrying soldiers around her and reached out with her own infernal essence. Her caste-mark, an hour-glass of silver sand, began shining from her forehead surrounded by a radiance of baleful green.

"Take the anathema in." The officer said.

When the first soldier leapt forward with a snarl, thrusting his short sword at her, Terezi lifted both her arms in a theatrical gesture, making the room explode in lacerating sand. A few soldiers screamed, those whose armour hadn't saved them entirely, but they all shuffled around confused and debilitated, blinded by the room-sized sandstorm. Terezi dodged to the side, avoiding the soldier's blade as it crashed into the wall behind her and tugged slightly at the cane, pulling her hidden blade from its sheath. A simple slash to the armpit and his arm came off, spraying the whirling sand red and colouring the room black and white with screams. Terezi jumped to her feet and set to work with a hoarse cackle, sword flicking this way and that, as the blinded soldiers collapsed in heaps around her.

And then she sheathed her blade and was done. Tapping her foot hard against the floor, the storm dissipated leaving the entire gory scene visible under a layer of dirt. She finished her drink in a few mouthfuls, and grinned wide and red at the barkeep, cowering behind the sand-grinded bar.

"Sorry about all this."

"P-please don't hurt me."

"Do I have a reason to?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

He shrunk at that. "No ma'am."

"Good. If they give you trouble for this," she gestured at the scene, "you need only pray for my help."

"Which god do I...?" 

She simply watched him with her blind eyes for a long moment. "I think you know."

She left a generous tip and set off to find Eridan Ampora.

***

##### REALM YEAR 768

The baker shouted somewhere far behind her, but Terezi simply ran, ducking under legs and around booths smelling of cinnamon and fish. Her precious prize, a loaf of freshly baked bread, was cradled against her chest like an infant as she ran, and the couple of guards who had started a half-hearted pursuit seemed to be losing their enthusiasm quickly. Nothing could go wrong, she thought to herself and laughed loudly as the air swooshed by her ears. One of her favourite alleys was up ahead, she could eat there and maybe get her hands on a bottle of something strong later.

And then she felt a hand tighten around her arm and a screeching pain in her shoulder as her speed disappeared in a spray of dust from beneath her feet. She felt pain, then surprise, then anger and looked up at her captor. The fat, jangling man with the golden rings, who met her undisguised wrath with a superior smirk, gave a nod of his head at the guardsmen slowly closing the distance through the tight crowds. She pulled at her arm desperately as they approached, trying to get away but unable; the loaf of bread had been entirely forgotten, discarded beside her as she struggled to escape.

As the irons closed around her wrists, she felt tears stinging at her eyes and was lead away, past the hungry throngs just as desperate as her. They jeered at her, shouted and spat. All because she had the courage to do what they did not. She lifted her hands to clasp the simple pendant of Mela she wore around her neck, muttering to herself. They led her to the garrison, a brown building of mud with a thatched roof and a single cell dug into the ground. They left her there, and as she sat up in the cell she felt, for once in her life, thankful for her short height.

She tested the bars surreptitiously, peeking out the cell to make sure nobody was coming, but found them immovable. The dirt walls of the small cell were pressed together into a hard material of packed earth, and after scratching at it for a few minutes she only managed to loosen a nail and a layer of dust. Leaning on the wall, she sank to the hay-covered ground and let out a despondent "Blar."

"What are you so blue about?"

Her head jerked up with surprise. She hadn't spotted anyone down in the pit with her. She hadn't even heard anyone there. And yet, across from her, just two yards distant, sat a man in the dress of a nobleman, black silk and black velvet, with a wide-brimmed black hat covering his face in shadows. She grinned widely, her most unnerving smile, but the dark man just watched her.

"I asked you something, girl."

"I'm not blue."

"Teal then, if you prefer. Should really get those worries of your chest. You know, loosen the pressure of all those emotions. Let off some steam." His voice was smooth and quiet like poison. "Confess."

"I'm scheduled for hanging." She stopped grinning, seeing as it wasn't having any effect. "I've got reason to be blue, don't I?"

He blinked at her, little bright pinpoint lights going off and on repeatedly under the shadow of his hat, before he let out a chuckle. "That's not why you're blue though, is it?"

"I just told you so, didn't I?"

"No," he continued, unconcerned, "You're not that simple. You're not afraid of death like other people. You've faced death before." His tongue darted out of his mouth as if he was tasting the air and he added, with a grin, "You've even _dealt_ death in your time, haven't you?"

Her blood ran cold, but her voice didn't waver. "Of course I haven't. I'm an orphan who likes other people's stuff. That's all."

He smiled his enigmatic, slick smile. "I think there's more to you than that, miss Pyrope." His grin grew wider and more amused as her eyes parted in surprise. "Yes, I know your name. Now, what kind of orphan has a family name, hm?"

Biting her lower lip and letting her head sink, she just muttered a simple "Shut up."

"So interesting. The daughter of a successful patrician, and here you are, stealing bread to survive and getting caught by merchants who haven't even had to reach for their wine at any point in their lives. Isn't that strange?"

"What do you want?" She glared at him. "Who are you?"

"Why, though?" He grinned, any pretense of disguising his amusement gone. Her fists clenched and she could _taste_ the desire to feed him his own teeth. "Why are you in Chiaroscuro, and why are you stealing bread?"

"Two answers: I happened to be passing through, and I was hungry. Any other brilliantly incisive bits of interrogation you wish to subject me to before you let me sleep?"

His smile flattened considerably for a moment, before he shook his head with a laugh. "So rude, miss Pyrope. Fine, I guess I'll provide you with some information." He removed his hat, though the shadows covering his face didn't seem to lift all that much. "As a gesture of goodwill, you understand."

"Who are you then, and why should I care?"

"I am Seeping Obsidian Heart, though you can call me Seeping Obsidian," He began, "and you should care because I have much I can offer you, depending on your answer to my earlier question and another I will ask you later."

She watched him carefully, but couldn't detect any deceit. Most people reeked of lies practically anytime they spoke, figuratively, of course, but this man was disturbingly honest as far as she could tell. She frowned slightly and ventured a further question, "What can you offer me, exactly?"

"What I can offer you depends on your answers, miss Pyrope. So tell me, why are you here of all places? You were so dutiful, always doing your lessons and making your parents proud with your intelligence and wit. And now, this." He gestured around the cell, before returning his eyes to Terezi. His interest seemed genuine, if tinged with ulterior motives.

"You wouldn't understand my reasons." She began cautiously.

"I think you'll find I understand more than you would expect." Obsidian grinned at her. She narrowed her eyes, watching him. Was there a serpentine tinge to his voice, or was she imagining that?

Turning her head away from the dark man with a low growl, deep in the back of her throat, she told him. "I killed someone on the Blessed Isle."

"Go on." The phrase seemed to seep from his mouth, drawn out and breathed like an apathetic kiss from between his thin lips. Terezi glanced at him, shivering in spite of herself.

"H-he was a mortal, like me. We went to the same boarding school, and were both on the path to becoming magistrates. Just starting out, but that's what we were both aiming for." She grit her teeth in anger as she remembered. "I wanted to punish the wicked. I'd carry a noose for every neck and string those who deserved my judgement up in the gallows. They would swing limply in my wake and the world would be a better place for their punishment."

"He was different. He wanted it for the power. He wanted the power to punish with impunity. Imperial Sanction to dominate and terrorize his victims. I would lacerate those who flaunted the law, while he simply wanted to subjugate those beneath him. Of course, the Empress' bureaucracy is all too happy to provide sanction. I-"

Terezi took in a quick breath, choking the quiver threatening to enter her voice.

"I couldn't allow that."

"I entered his room at night. He was never as quick as I was, never could keep up with me. His father was a dragon-blood, but he hadn't taken his second breath, so that was little help to him. I beat him. I beat him so bad. By the end of it, he'd stopped moving, but I could still hear him, that raspy breathing in the dark. I tied the rope around his throat and hanged him from the chandelier in his room. He didn't last long, but I was long gone by the time he took his last breath."

"As much as I enjoy the grisly details," Obsidian whispered, almost reverently, "I need you to tell me exactly why you did that."

Her eyes snapped back at him. "He was going to perpetrate injustice against everyone he was going to meet if I let him get away with it. He already beat the servants and the teachers and nobody did anything because he had an Exalted father and he sneered at any attempt to correct him and he slouched drunkenly through all his lessons and..."

Terezi snarled in frustration. "He was **wrong** and I was **right**. His death was justice. He deserved it."

"Arbitrary." He smiled again, slick with mystery. "But I won't hold that against you. Justice is arbitrary, in essence, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course I wouldn't. Justice is the highest principle. Not birth or bloodline: only Justice." She pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "I guess it doesn't matter so much what the laws are exactly; as long as they apply to everyone and are fair and harsh."

"You say justice isn't arbitrary, and yet you steal." He grinned at her. "What kind of magistrate steals?"

"I'm not a magistrate."

"Please. You may not have Imperial Sanction, but you punish those who break the law." He inclined his head respectfully at her and added, "Your law."

"And just what is my law, Seeper?" She grinned at him, arching an eyebrow.

"You dislike when the powerful lord over the defeated and the cast down, yes? You hate those who throw only scrabs to the downtrodden masses, and you hate those who teach those same masses to fear the change that would only bring the world back under the rule of universal law. You hate when the mighty escape punishment simply because they **are** mighty."

"Those are some awfully lofty ideals I have, apparently."

He grinned widely. "Yes, they are. There's more than that, however. You understand that the world is not just home to inequity: it is ruled by criminals in halls of gold and crowns that burn in the sun. The Empress is merely one example, and you understand that. It is higher than any single ruler: the gods preside over this system, this Heavenly Bureaucracy, and what do they do?"

Terezi grit her teeth in anger, both from having her secretly held views parroted at her and from this new feeling of being vindicated in that same anger. Suddenly, it was legitimate and she wasn't alone in her outrage. "They sit in Heaven while Creation screams for help."

"Creation screams for help, but they won't receive it from Heaven." Obsidian's smile grew razor thin and white in the dark, and Terezi felt another shiver. "Hell, however, resounds with cries for justice."

The cell was suddenly no longer just dark, she felt sure; it was filled with a murky darkness, a tar so thick and impenetrable she couldn't clearly see across to Obsidian anymore. His form seemed to blur before her eyes, like an oil-slick spreading rainbow-like across water: he was billowing in the air now, amorphous and strange and inhuman across from her.

Shaking, she forced her eyes to remain open, to keep watching him, as his many-coloured form expanded before her. She glimpsed a flash of green, there, baleful and angry. "Hell? W-what does Hell want with me?"

"The Lords of Hell know injustice, Pyrope. They were cast down by their servants, unsatisfied with the perfect rule of a system of law that permeated all of Creation. The Yozi want justice: they want their Creation back in righteous hands and the usurping Gods removed from their stolen seats. They want their people freed from the tyranny of the Sun and the Moon and the Five Maidens." His tongue slid across his lips. "They want justice."

"What are you going to do to me?"

He laughed, strange-voiced and serpentine and red-eyed. "As I said, that depends on your answer to my questions, miss Pyrope." She saw a forked tongue flick out towards her, and a long scaled neck flexing in the mirage of his true form. "So what is your second answer?"

She pushed herself against the wall desperately, trying to edge away from the demon that was moving closer and closer with every moment. "What's the second question?" she asked with more confidence than she felt.

His red, dead eyes fixed themselves on hers, and she felt his front claws caress her shin, leaving lines across her pale legs. "You know that, Pyrope. Do you want justice?"

The demon was suddenly all around her, in her throat, in her eyes, in her lungs, scraping against her skin, raking her across her back, lifting her up, sliding between her toes and fingers, impossible tongues of shadow all around her, licking at her quivering flesh, whispering sweetly into her ears, so sweetly, promising justice, promising punishments and power, if only, if only she'll serve, if only she'll serve the lords of Hell, be their arbiter, their magistrate, carry their laws into Creation and make the dragon-bloods and their Scarlet Empire fear her judgement. The promises permeate her mind, the images of dragon-bloods in gallows, Empires shattering, the dragons thrown aside, the gates of Heaven thrown wide by demons and shadows and there, in the middle of it all, there she is, and she is tall, and powerful and blind and beautiful, and it is so perfect, even as the mightiest gods dangle from her noose, and they're all squirming, all dying, even her previous victims, they were all dying, again and again, and it was all too much, it came in a rush, washing over her, seeping into her, and she could do nothing but whimper an urgent: "Yes, yes, yes, yes..."

And before her mind blacked out, she saw the demon's flesh tear apart in a spray of guts and viscera, surrounding her in a grotesque chrysalis of quivering skin. The cocoon whispered around her, and her terrified struggling faded, as her heartbeat merged with the demon's and their flesh began to meld together.

Terezi of House Pyrope drew her second breath, and took her place as one of the Green Sun Princes. The cell didn't hold.

***

##### REALM YEAR 792

Traversing the distance between her favourite bar (ex-favourite bar, she corrected herself) and the satrap's mansion didn't take long. She crept along the roof-tops, taking care to stay out of sight of the Tri-Khan's patrols down below. Stealth slowed her down considerably, but it would allow her to avoid any ambushes Ampora might have left for her. It was best to be careful. 

And yet, his first strike had been uncharacteristically clumsy. 

She set her misgivings to the side and peered from her current hiding place to the walled compound where the representative of the Realm, the Satrap, held court. It was eerily silent, and the walls seemed strangely unguarded. She waited for the lone guard patrolling the perimetre to pass, then took the jump and landed with a thud in the Satrap's lush gardens between three rather surprised guardsmen.

A moment later, they were closing in on all sides. Terezi could smell their perspiration and their stale breaths and their sour shirts beneath gilded bronze armour, and didn't even deign to turn her head towards them as they inched closer to her, caste-mark still glowing, still marking her as anathema, while they traded silent looks amongst each other. She grit her teeth, sniffing intently for any sign of his wet, watery scent. Aaaaand, there it was. Definitely here, somewhere. A slight whiff of movement reached her nose a split-second after the infantrists started charging towards her, spears extended.

"Dragon-blasted anathema!" the first one screamed, thrusting his three-pronged spear at her.

Grinning a wide, shark-toothed grin Terezi merely dropped, sensing the breeze of the spear passing an inch above her head, twisting her body around to face her attacker as her swordcane appeared in her hand, summoned by a slight splash of essence. Cackling at a high pitch, she jumped as the others attacked, narrowly avoiding another two spear-tips. She flicked out her tongue to get a better sense of the mortal's eyes behind his visor, meeting his fearful gaze for a long moment, before swinging her blade in a wide arc.

By the time the bodies crashed down to the ground in a loud spectacle of metal, Terezi was already advancing up the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. The satrap had crossed her, but she wasn't particularly interested in revenge. Revenge was for children and spiders, afterall, she thought, and let a smirk slide over her face. No, revenge didn't interest her: Terezi Pyrope was here for justice.

Her journey through the mansion was surprisingly uneventful. She'd expected lines of infantry charging to their deaths, maybe a summoned elemental or two sent desperately thrashing in her direction. She'd expected dragon-blooded resistance, she realized as she stabbed an unfortunate soldier in the back while his compatriots deserted him, not this. She slithered her tongue across sharp teeth and gave an unhappy sigh.

She pushed open the door to the satrap's office. His heavy breathing alerted her to his position, as did the wet scent of salt that always surrounded him. She caught his hand as he swung his sword at her and forced him up against the wall, sliding her tongue across his face in a slow, languid gesture. He hadn't even used any of his dragon-blooded charms, she realized with a chuckle. Difficult not to feel welcomed. "You've always been a pretty heinous scumbag, Eridan, but you never were a warrior." She grinned her sharptoothed grin at him, and continued. "Where is the Satrap? Didn't want him having another session in my courtroom?"

"You think I'd leavve my son, the highest authority in this entire region, wwithin your reach, Pyrope?" He snorted out a laugh. "I'm an admiral of the Imperial Navvy, givve me some fuckin' credit. My knowwledge of strategy is far too great for that kind a childish mistake."

She tightened her grip around his wrist, forcing him to drop his blade. Slowly running her tongue across her teeth, she lent in closer to Eridan, arching an eyebrow high, and sniffed along his collarbone and up his jaw. Telling the truth, apparently. "Hehehe. Seems like it. Why is the Wyld Hunt suddenly coming for me after this long?" She flicked her tongue out towards his face, but didn't quite lick him this time, and cackled as he tried to turn his face away. "I thought you'd given up on me. Anything chaaaanged?"

Eridan merely glared at her until she tightened her grip again, digging her claws into the soft flesh of his wrists, harder and harder until he couldn't help snarling at her: "Stop! Stop! Dragon-blasted wwitch, I'll tell you, just-" Her grip loosened, and she grinned. It's not all in the intimidating silence, after all. Eridan grit his teeth as he blushed in embarrasment. "It's not wwhether I'vve givven up, Pyrope. There's an old friend of ours wwho wwants you found, and she's payin' me good jade to make it happen."

"So this isn't the Satrap's doing?"

He hesitated for a few moments and offered a minimalist, "No."

Terezi frowned at him for a lengthy moment, unimpressed with his obstruction of justice. She shifted her hands for a better grip on his arm and then threw him across the room, sending him crashing into a desk which shattered under him. Advancing on him quickly with her sword drawn, she was silent as the grave. Eridan scrambled to get to his feet, but only managed to crawl up against the wall as she placed the tip of her canesword at his throat. "Vvriska! Vvriska Serket!" He shouted.

Terezi's eyes shot open in shock. "Vriska Serket?"

"She's the moon-mad anathem-" He began.

"I know who Vriska is, Admiral." She snarled at him. "How is she alive?" 

"I-I don't knoww, okay?" He looked nervously at the sword, shaking slightly in Terezi's grip suddenly. "But she wwanted me to kill or capture you." 

"And you decide to send a squad of mortal soldiers to apprehend me? You send your dragon-blooded guards away from the compound and don't even use any charms when I overpower you?" She tilted her head and watched him break into a grin. "What's your angle, exactly? Did you just want those soldiers executed in a way that buys you some goodwill with me?" 

"I wwant the spider out of the picture, essentially." He slicked his hair back with one hand. "She's interferred in Realm business in the Wwest."

"So, this is how you could warn me while making it seem to her that you're still on her side." Terezi elaborated. "Betting on both horses."

"Pretty much, yeah." He gestured at the blade carefully. "You goin to let me up or wwhat?"

Terezi raised an eyebrow and grinned widely. "Let you up? Because you warned me of Vriska?" She giggled. "Oh, Eridan. I don't care particularly about the good you do. I'm a magistrate. A prosecutor." She pressed the blade tighter to his throat, and smelled a tinge of blood in the room. "I can only see your crimes, dragon-blood, and it is such a long, long list." 

She shook her head with a frown. "You really are despicable, Eridan. You claim to be a firm supporter of the Immaculate Faith and yet you won't hunt down anathema like me unless it advances your career or let's you dip your heinous snout into the Imperial Coffers," She smiled at him with all her sharpened teeth, "And now you're taking orders from one of the moon-mad?" She let out a high-pitched cackle. "And not content with selling out your principles, you're still ready to betray and backstab and connive. Is there any part of you that isn't fishy and corrupt and...deserving of punishment." Her grin grew wide and dangerous and her blank, red eyes peered directly into Eridan's purple irises.

"Not this time, however. I have a spider to catch, afterall." She turned and grinned at him as she walked towards the door. "You remember to stab her in the back, now."

Eridan was left seething in his expensive uniform, and only managed to spit out a low "I wwon't forget."

"Give the Satrap my sweetest greetings!" She cackled as she disappeared out the door.

Terezi disappeared out of the satrap's mansion, keeping to the shadows and walking with quiet steps. The remaining guards, though on high alert, never stood a chance at sensing her pass them, a shadow tinged with red and teal. Terezi didn't even offer them the slightest concern: she was thinking about Eridan's revelation.

So Vriska was back in Chiaroscuro. On the one hand, she'd tried her best to kill the spider when they'd ended their previous partnership, but on the other hand she was delighted to hear that one of the few people she respected had survived; it seemed that the God's stolen panoply hadn't injured her as much as he had assured her it would. Her feelings were mixed on the subject, but she felt certain the only reason Vriska could have to return was revenge.

She would likely bring the rest of her pack with her. The ridiculous bull, the cat and the ram. Terezi chuckled to herself as she passed into the shadows of her city, slums buzzing with beggars and lepers and orphans. She was lucky to know so many anathema ("Exalted," she corrected herself), in a world where so few existed. If Vriska tried something deadlier than Eridan's fumbling toy soldiers and battle-ships she'd need allies.

Mind made up, she set out to visit the only remaining members of her circle, Karkat Vantas and Equius Zahhak. The shouting nub-horned rage-aneurysm had made a home for himself out in the desert, where his wyld mutations wouldn't be spotted by anyone he couldn't take care of. He'd also muttered something about learning to control his anger or something worthless like that. She had no idea exactly where he'd ended up setting up his meditation camp, however, and didn't want to leave the city for long now that Vriska was back. 

She'd have to go to Equius first, much as she loathed the thought of talking to the creep. He knew the sorcery they'd need to get in touch with Karkat, and besides, she could use his tie to Vriska's feline companion to track her. Equius and Nepeta had always had a strong bond. It had once been the thing that united the two groups, but in restrospect it couldn't ever last.

Terezi finally let slip the charm that let her see in spite of her ruined, red eyes, wrapped a strip of cloth around them, and started off down the darkened streets as the dawn broke in the green spires of Chiaroscuro and cast the city in a ghostly emerald light. She felt the warmth but saw nothing, as she tapped her cane against the cobbled streets and disappeared into the emerging morning crowds, another wandering cripple with far too much history.


	2. cal100sTechnician

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Defiler Caste** : The Infernal Chosen of She Who Lives In Her Name, also known as the Principle of Hierarchy. Known for her dedication to order, she opposed the introduction of free will into the primordials' Creation, only relenting in her criticism because the King of the Primordials commanded it. Her chosen can hone their minds into deadly weapons, both as crushing telekinetic force and lobotomizing scalpels, while also asserting their power over Creation as miraculous craftsmen, transforming their enemies with impossible essence-fueled alchemy and creating magnificent works with no tools other than their essence and wills. As they become elders, their emotions become detached and alien, working on scales far beyond those of ordinary mortals: turning a prefecture of civilians to pillars of salt in order to starve an invading force of fair folk of dreams to devour can be perfectly in tune with such twisted compassions.

##### REALM YEAR 792

"Come buy our demon-fruits, come buy, come buy!"

The hawker's cries reverberated throughout the main chamber of the Undermarket. Despite the crowds and the constant, dizzying noise, she knew this particular cavern-market well enough to walk with brisk, confident steps, half-running at times to get a good sniff at everything she passed. And there was alot to smell. People milling about amongst peddlers of illegal medicines and unlicensed Chiaroscuro glass weapons, fair folk from the wyld with their strange and fantastic appearances, one with burning hair and one with the face of a jackal, demons bound with sorcery going to and fro on their masters' command, and a veritable army of whores and criminals for sale to accomplish any deed imaginable.

This was a place she could trust, in a way. Paradoxically, only the openly despicable, criminals, murderers, kidnappers, rapist and so on, could be trusted. There was a pretension of honesty that merchants up above tried to veil themselves in, but in the Undermarket what you see is what you get. Here, she knew exactly what to expect: she could trust these people to be filth and monsters.

And that's coming from a servant of the Yozi.

Terezi sniffed curiously in the direction of a man haggling with a representative of one of the Undercity's brothels as she passed. The customer smelled of cinnamon and dirt, while the representative's scent was more rich: wine, brass and salt. She didn't frequent that sort of establishment much, but she would hazard the guess that he represented either Reshey's or the Scarlet Lotus. There was a faint scent of sorcery that clung to his clothes, and those were the only brothels she knew of who offered that sort of service. 

For particuarly discerning and wealthy clientele. The sort to have eccentric desires. 

"Please, my family needs more tha-"

"Twenty dinars is final, and very generous." The representative didn't sound generous at all. Just slightly bored.

"My life is only worth twenty dinars to you?"

"No. Your death is worth twenty dinars to one of my clients. I doubt I could get half as much at an auction. You know the terms. Do you accept?"

Before she could hear the end of the conversation, she moved on. The hawker could still be heard with his customary cry, "Blood ape hearts for strength and marotte phlegm for length! Neomah wombs for virility or anuhle poison for jealousy! Come buy our demon-fruits, come buy, come buy!" The man had an impressive voice, she had to admit.

She was looking for something far more specific than occult aphrodisiacs, however. Amidst the overflowing of flamboyant wealth and debauchery, she was looking for an austere booth advertising, in small, simple script, "Magitech fixed, functions restored".

So far it eluded her.

She took another circuit of this chamber, passing a coterie of hired killers doing their best to appear eminently ruthless, and then headed off down one of the side-tunnels. Down these, business was quieter and more dangerous. From time to time, she glimpsed the rat-folks of the tunnels, mutants warped by the strange essence of the underearth, crawling across the ceiling, while strange people with unusual complexions offered her miracle medicines and peaches of immortality from booths or simply holes in the ground. The tunnels had a scent of wetness and darkness, but under both of those there was a lingering smell of disease that had always irked her.

She pushed her way into a small opening, a natural cave that bridged between two of the main caverns. It was tight: it was doubtful you could get more than two men standing abreast in there, and at times she had to dodge around the jutting limestone stalactites and jump across pits and missing steps.

She realized dimly that the hawker's voice had dissipated by now, replaced with an insistingly skittish patting of feet. These caverns perforated the stone foundations of Chiaroscuro like the veins of salt in the cliffs of her home across the sea. There were caves there too, and when she played with her cousins she would sometimes hear their steps through the stone like she heard the ratmen now, skittering and whispering to each other.

She shook her head and abandoned the thought as she emerged in another tunnel, as wide as a street and crammed with blacksmiths. Far away, she could hear the hawker's cry, distorted by distance and the twisting passages of stone. The rockwalls shouted out his reverberating voice and it melded together with the clangs of hammers and the pangs of tongs making the stalactites and stalagmites shiver and drip, and as each drop hit the forge-warmed stones below the noise of their boiling joined the chaos. Terezi grit her teeth and took slow, measured steps, walking between the forges and the anvils, watching the soot-covered, sweat-slickened men and women work in the disorienting din.

She passed a shrine to the Glass-Skinned Daimyo, the god of Chiaroscuro's craftsmen, and another to Pu Yo, her servant in charge of iron-works. There was a sign there for every shop she had passed, a mark for every faithful and reverent blacksmith who wished the gods' favour. A small pile of offerings to the Glass-Skinned Daimyo and a slightly larger one to Pu Yo shimmered in the smoke of burning incense sticks. A single priest kept the shrine, pumping the bellows and hammering the ceremonial anvil between prayers.

Almost as soon as she turned from the gods' shrines, she found a smaller altar of brass emblazoned with a green sun. A single sign, Equius' caste-mark, had been etched below it. A passing merchant noted Terezi's starring and said, "I'd steer well clear of that blasphemy, lady. You don't want to get involved with a demon's craftworks."

"Zahhak is no demon." She just said. "Where is his workshop?"

The merchant shrugged slightly. "Nobody knows. Somewhere in the caverns, no doubt. He only comes here when somebody messes with this shrine of his. He has a servant seated at a booth just a minute further in that direction, though."

Terezi moved on, and quickly found the booth in question. The sign was a simple plate of brass etched like she remembered it: "Magitech fixed, functions restored". Behind the counter sat a small man with a hairless head and a blank stare. His head turned slightly in her direction as she approached. "You are Terezi Pyrope." He stated in a clipped voice like a machine.

She wasn't sure whether it was a statement or a question. "Uh, yeah. That's who I am." She ventured with a frown.

His eyes regarded her blankly. "What can this one do for you?"

"Uh." She waved a hand in front of his eyes but he didn't seem to react much. What the hell had Equius done to this man? He was such a creep. "I, uh, want to meet with Equius Zahhak."

The hollow man simply nodded and gestured for her to follow him. Before they disappeared into the caverns, she glanced back to see another man without hair had taken the seat behind the counter of Equius' shop.

Terezi and her guide walked silently. From what she could tell, Equius had taken a scalpel to his mind, and the fact that he was a human being was only a technicality at this point. For all intents and purposes, the hollow man at her side was just like any other automaton Equius had ever designed. He'd gone sledding down the slippery slope the moment Karkat left the city, apparently.

"We are nearing the Manse of Ouroboric Inextricabilities, mistress Pyrope." He intoned at her.

As they walked, they began passing statues of ratmen. They were gathered in small clusters of different materials: here marble, here gold, bending under their own weight, here silver, charcoal and coral, here obsidian, here brass. They passed a couple dozen before they entered the cavern chamber where the Manse itself was located. She hesitated at the entrance as she took in the chamber. There were hundreds of them here, gathered around the marble fortress like pilgrims frozen in supplication.

The manse rose up from the centre of the congregation. It was a huge sphere of marble, carved along its entire surface with images of equine demons and invocations of the laws of Hell. It had sunk somewhat into the ground, and a ramp of packed earth lead to an entrance above which Equius' caste-mark, a burning eye, shone out green and watchful.

"My master awaits inside, mistress Pyrope." The hollow man whispered reverently as the two approached the structure.

"Uh-huh." Terezi caught herself staring and quickly closed her mouth. Equius was a creep, sure, and his magic was weird (she patted a ratman statue sympathetically on the head for emphasis), but he wasn't a bad builder when he was given a single purpose.

The inside of the manse was minimalistically designed: walls were bare and lights were utilitarian and spaced out. There were no doors, she noticed, and the only decoration came in the form of colour-coded lines in the floor that lead to different locations within the manse. A line of blue insisted that it would lead her to a workshop. She followed it as it wove its way around the spherical mansion, and eventually heard the tell-tale sound of heavy breathing through a doorway.

Inside the workshop, piles of automatons lay scattered on the floor and Equius Zahhak stood at a workstation dressed in a sleeveless black shirt with his back turned, working telekinetically on assembling some levitated piece of magitechnology. His arms were folded on his back.

"Greetings, miss Pyrope." He said, without turning. "There are excentricities I would expect of you, but this actuality is not one of them."

She felt a snarl rise in her throat already, but choked it dutifully. Politely now. "Yeah, I guess I'm not that much of a devotee."

"Indeed." He finally turned his gaze to her for a slight glance. "Elucidate, if you would, the reason for this distinguished honour."

"Shu-" She bit her lips, paused and started over. "Vriska Serket is back in Chiaroscuro."

Equius nodded thoughtfully. "And you still consider her a threat to our kind?"

"Well, of course." Terezi sat herself in a pile of automaton parts and watched him work. "Last time she was in the city her cohorts killed one of us. You should take precautions."

He waved a hand at her dimissively. "I am still exceptionally strong. Strength continues to be my strongest attributes, a fact made further impressive by my prodigious genius."

She couldn't stop her snarl this time. "Why are you so weird? I didn't even mention anything about your strength."

"You implied that the pack of Lunars foolishly closing in would present an obstruction to my experiments." He smiled through broken teeth. "If I were them, I would strongly reconsider."

Terezi just peered at him, then started giggling. "You're so full of yourself."

Equius raised a confused eyebrow. "What?"

"You think Vriska Serket would match you strength for strength?" Equius just looked at her, and she couldn't help exploding into high-pitch cackling at his incomprehending stare. "She'll hit you on your weak points."

"This mirth is unacceptable." He growled. "I am higher in the hierarchy of Hell than you, Pyrope. You will cease this behaviour immediately and explain."

"Uh, hello? Nepeta Leijon?" She rose and walked over to Equius, who flinched slightly at her approach. "She didn't stop being a part of Vriska's pack or anything."

"Indeed not. I am certain, however, I can convince her to abandon the eight-eyed hooligan and assume her rightful place as my bonded companion." He gave her a sideways glance and added, "We are inextricably connected, you see."

"Yeah. Good thing the Incarnae were apparently even more creepy than you, Equius." She turned with sigh and leant on the table, peering out across his factory-manse. The disassembled detritus of his intermittent fits of rage lay scattered across the floor, splintered magitech circuitry and raw materials. Terezi glanced at him as he continued working in silence, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "You don't seem at all surprised."

"What? Why would I be surprised?"

"Vriska Serket isn't dead."

The look that passed over his face at that moment sent a chill down her spine, and she could feel her lips curl back in anger as he started perspiring.

"You knew."

"Of horse I didn't! Don't be filly, that is a foolish accusation!"

"Blar! You're doing horse puns! You only do horse puns when you're lying!"

"Hoof-beast! That other designation is illogical to the highest degree. You will adhere to the Pyrian System of Animal Designations. You will do this immarediately."

"You said horse a moment ago!" She snarled at him. "How long have you known that Vriska was alive?!"

He paused, breathing heavily after their brief exchange, and telekinetically fetched a drying rag from a nearby rack. He dried himself off, and turned back to his work. "My bond-mate contacted me to fix the spider a few hours after our confrontation at the plaza." he finally started after a long pause.  
"You...You 'fixed' her?"

He smiled proudly suddenly. "Yes. A most ingenious amalgamation of biogenesis and magitechnological crafts. The clockwork limbs of Lookshy may be seen as the works of luminaries, but it is irretrievably factual that I, Equius Zahhak, exceed their dragon-blooded wire-crossing with all the reason and respect to logical disciplines expected of a chosen of the Principle of Hierarchy herself."

Terezi just stared for a moment. "You made her an arm?"

"And an eye. The eye was significantly more challenging, but after the legs and the arms, my incredible craftsmanship had been awa-"

"Wait, legs?"

"Uh. Yes. The Bull required replacements following his crippling damage."

"Oh, so you made replacement limbs for every single one of them, did you?"

A long pause. "Not," he began, "all of them," he finished.

"I can smell the stink of lies, Equius. It is the hollow, voidy, malodorous scent of omission."

"I, uh. I need another towel."

"What else did you do?"

She pressed closer to Equius, licking her teeth as she tried to smell past the heavy miasma of sweat and workshop that always surrounded him. There was something strange about him, an empty smell, as if there was a void in him that scent, or light, couldn't quite escape. She could always tell when he lied, because she could tell when anyone lied, but Equius registered to her about as vividly as a stone or a shadow.

He grit his broken teeth against each other, and inched back to his work table, furiously trying to dry himself off with his no-longer-quite-fresh rag. "You will keep your distance, Pyrope, I comman-" He trailed off as she simply turned, and started pacing with a thoughtful expression.

"Nepeta convinced you of this, huh?" She grinned widely. Not bad of the little cat-girl. She could really be quite devious when she needed to apparently. "To think she'd take advantage of someone as thick as you. It's really quite shameless. I'm impressed."

"Take advantage? Explicitate your implication, Pyrope, or I will have to interpret it...foolishly." He clenched his fists threateningly, but her grin just widened.

"I'm saying that considering the bond is meant to be one-way, you are doing a really impressive job of doing whatever she wants." She shrugged lightly. "Whatever happened to helping out your circle-mates?"

"We are no longer circle-mates. Our leader made that irretrievably clear when he departed for the deeper desert. I stayed to deal with Peixes out of respect for our long cooporation. I now seek to extricate myself from further dealings with you."

"Peixes was a mutual responsibility that we were left with because of Karkat." She snarled at him. "That's on him. If you ever owed me anything, you still do."

"His decision to remove himself from the hierarchy was a sign of great wisdom in one with his...affliction." Equius responded with barely concealed disgust. His expression softened considerably before he added, "Besides, he had lost someone. I understand the pain of compassion."

"Ugh, don't even humor his melodramatic bullshit."

"Hoofbeastmanure. I will not stand for lewdness or inaccurate terminology." He growled. "Or disrespect to a deceased colleague of mine. Mourning the Dolorosa is not melodrama."

"Blar, fine! Whatever. Sorry." She paused and let him get back to work, before venturing to continue. "But Vantas was overreacting and you know it. It was just another one of his weird self-hating diatribes."

"Nonetheless, my superior has released me from his command. It is not my role to question his reasons." He returned to his work, reducing the steel into a molten stream of particles with his will as it levitated above him. He began forming it. "Even if he is a loud-mouthed mutant with a weakness for extremely lewd language. If you are so certain he has not in fact disbanded our unit, why not contact him for confirmation?"

"I can't." Terezi frowned. "I've no idea where he is."

"You don't? I'd have thought he'd provide you with the location. Didn't you two have a..." He trailed off peering at her.

"If you say 'thing', I will stab you."

"Indubitably. Regardless, it remains a fact that you know him significantly better than I do. If you cannot figure out where he went, how would I?"

"I could track him down, sure, but you know sorcery. Can't you just send him a cherub to tell him to get over his drama and get back here?"

"That would be within my abilities, of course." He grinned arrogantly at her from his workstation. "But I have a significantly better idea. You remember the Animating Intelligence we discovered in the Biogenesis Manse?"

"IAM? Yeah, vaguely, I guess."

"I have spent a significant amount of time since that meeting appropriating the Artificial Psychic Matrices of its Essence Patterns, and have discovered a viable means of instant communication using similar methods." He droned while rummaging through the piles of finished constructions scattered about the room.

"Zzzzzzzzzz, Equius." She somehow pronounced.

"Right. Well, suffice it to say that with this communicative device attuned to your essence," He handed her a small wristband of vitriolized orichalcum, "You should be able to use the framework construct of the prayer-system native to all souls to send messages to others who might not ordinarily be able to perceive them."

"Uh huh?"

"You can instantly pester others by piggy-backing on the same Shinmaic Sub-Routines that allow gods to perceive prayers."

"Oh. I guess."

"Yes. It functions as follows."

There was a subdued buzz in her head, and suddenly she could feel a strange grid being constructed in her mind's eye.

callousTechnician [CT] began worshipping grislyClavicularius [GC].  
CT: D --> As such. The software, if you will allow such terminology, is in%plicably willful  
CT: D --> Almost as if it designed for Gods, rather than %alted such as ourselves  
CT: D --> Only a fitting reappropriation in the service of the Reclamation  
CT: D --> I confess I find its finer points e100de me, however   
CT: D --> Essentially, all mortal souls can send prayers already  
CT: D --> This is how gods receive communication from their flocks  
CT: D --> I understand you are familiar with the concept  
CT: D --> This artifact activates certain un%plored potentialities in the metaphysical design of the soul  
CT: D --> Allowing mortals and %alts to not just send but also receive prayers  
GC: WH4T TH3 H3LL 1S W1TH YOUR M3SS4G3S  
GC: SH1T M1N3 4R3 DO1NG 1T TOO R1GHT  
CT: D --> Yes. I have yet to find an a%eptable %planation, but rest assured I shall di%over it   
CT: D --> The gods I have interrogated have %pressed the opinion it is a refle%ion on our true natures  
CT: D --> But this seems 100di%ous on the face of it  
CT: D --> No sane specimen would use "quir%" such as these  
CT: D --> That is the god's term, as well, by the way  
CT: D --> I shall continue to investigate  
GC: 4ND WH4T 4BOUT TH3 1N1T14LS  
CT: D --> I suspe%t the same principle applies  
CT: D --> It is highly probable it is tied to sleepingSerpent   
CT: D --> He was the first to use this basic prayer infrastru%ure as far as I can tell  
GC: SL33P1NGS3RP3NT >:?  
CT: D --> Yes  
CT: D --> The prayerlogs I have a%essed suggest the Primordial origins of this system  
GC: SO M4LF34S 4ND CO US3D TH1S 1NT3RF4C3 TO COMMUN1C4T3  
CT: D --> I am uncertain of the specifi%  
CT: D --> But theoretically they still do  
GC: 4ND TH3 GODS  
CT: D --> Their anne%ation of this e%ellent software is 100% certain, yes  
CT: D --> Do not contact ignisDivine or lunArgent to be safe  
CT: D --> Or any celestial god actually  
CT: D --> Those two are just proof of the widespread use of this essence technology amongst the gods  
GC: WOW 3QU1US  
GC: YOUR 4B1L1TY TO B3 4 CR33P F1N4LLY P4YS OFF  
CT: D --> It is not 'creepy'  
CT: D --> I merely seized the chance to learn the archived ta% of our hated nemesi  
GC: 1 N3V3R GOT WHY YOU H4T3 TH3M SO MUCH  
CT: D --> The incarnae?   
GC: Y34H  
GC: 1 H4T3 TH3M FOR COMPL1C4T3D 4W3SOM3 R34SONS TO DO W1TH MY CH1LDHOOD 4ND 3X4LT4T1ON  
CT: D --> They offend your sense of justice  
GC: BL4R DONT S4Y 1T L1K3 TH4T  
GC: 1T SOUNDS MUCH L3SS COOL WH3N PUT TH4T SH1TT1LY >:[  
CT: D --> Even so it is 100% true  
CT: D --> Your vendetta against Heaven is personal  
CT: D --> Ne%t to mine, those are petty concerns  
CT: D --> I fit in a hierarchy, and in fulfilling my fun%ion I gain definition  
GC: YOU JUST G3T OFF ON FOLLOW1NG ORD3RS  
GC: 1V3 H34RD THE RUMOURS 4ROUND TOWN YOU KNOW >:]  
GC: D1DNT TH1NK YOU L1K3D S41L1NG  
CT: D --> Sailing  
GC: 1 4SSUM3 TH4TS WH4T YOUV3 B33N 4SK1NG FOR P4DDL3S FOR >:D  
CT: D --> You will stop this immarediately  
GC: H3H3H3H3 >:]  
CT: D --> I canter llow you to drag this conversation down to such 100d and una%eptable levels  
CT: D --> This is merely another %ample of your crass individualism poisoning your morality  
GC: PL34S3  
GC: DONT TRY TO P4SS TH1S OFF 4S M3 B31NG 4 CR4SS 1ND1V1DU4L1ST  
GC: 1 4M 4S MUCH OF 4 F4N OF L4W 4ND ORD3R 4S YOU  
GC: W3LL  
GC: NOT QU1T3 4S MUCH BUT YOUR3  
GC: NOT 4LL TH3R3 YOU KNOW  
GC: 1 JUST H4PP3N TO TH1NK TH3 CONT3NT OF 4 L4W M4TT3RS  
GC: UNL1K3 YOU 1TS NOT 4LL SURF4C3 >:]  
CT: D --> If the law is properly applied there is only the surface left  
CT: D --> When everything has been catalogued and systematized there is no further mi%ing or depth  
CT: D --> Only layered inter%ions between levelled units of %istance  
CT: D --> Your childish notion that there is content to laws  
CT: D --> Or indeed more than one law  
CT: D --> Is amusing  
GC: TH1S 4G41N  
GC: L4WS 4R3 4RB1TR4RY CR34T1ONS  
GC: 1MPOS3D BY TH3 POW3RFUL ON TH3 W34K  
GC: NOT 3XPR3SS1ONS OF ON3 TRU3 4ND P3RF3CTLY LOG1C4L 3X1ST4NC3  
GC: 1F TH3R3 W4S 4 P3RF3CT WORLD WOULDNT TH3 YOZ1 H4V3 M4D3 1T 1NST34D OF TH1S WORLD  
GC: L4WS 4R3 TH3 1MPOS1T1ON OF W1LL ON CH4OS   
CT: D --> And what of the immutable laws of motoni%  
CT: D --> These are perfe%ly balanced such that Shinma develop  
CT: D --> Such that Primordials are born  
CT: D --> Such that Creation must %ist  
CT: D --> This is STRONG evidence of a perfe%ion in the overarching design  
GC: TH1S 1S STRONG 3V1D3NC3 TH4T OR4MUS L1K3D TH3 1D34 OF CR34T1ON  
GC: OR WHO3V3R TH3 F1RST SH1NM4 W4S  
GC: W41T  
GC: M4YB3 OR4MUS 1S SL33P1NGS3RP3NT  
CT: D --> ...   
CT: D --> The Dragon Beyond the World  
CT: D --> That is the obvious solution, come to think of it  
CT: D --> Perhaps I should commune with his constituent souls for a%ess to more information  
GC: WH4T3V3R YOU W4NT  
GC: L3TS G3T B4CK TO TH3 M4TT3R 4T H4ND THOUGH  
GC: SO   
GC: 1 C4N CONT4CT K4RK4T W1TH TH1S SYST3M  
CT: D --> Yes  
CT: D --> His essence should form a suitably accomodating pattern on receiving your prayers   
CT: D --> He will be able to respond in kind, once conne%ion is established   
CT: D --> Theoretically, that is  
GC: GR34T   
GC: TH4NKS EQU1US   
GC: YOUR L3G4L TH3ORY M4Y B3 SH1TTY  
GC: BUT TH1S 1S 4CTU4LLY 1NCR3D1BLY US3FUL  
CT: D --> It is nothing. The conundrum drew me in, in spite of myself   
CT: D --> Also, it will be useful for staying connected with distant acquaintances  
GC: Y34H  
GC: 4NYW4Y S33 YOU 4ROUND  
CT: D --> I am still standing a few feet away from you  
CT: D --> But goodbye, I suppose, miss Pyrope  
grislyClavicularius [GC] ceased worshipping callousTechnician [CT].


	3. CORROSIVEGRANDEUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Slayer Caste** : The Infernal Chosen of Malfeas, the King of the Yozi. Before the First Age, Malfeas was a being of boundless majesty, a king who ruled benevolently and unchallenged over his grateful subjects. With his defeat and subsequent torture by the Exalted, the Empyreal Chaos became the Green Sun: bitter and consumed with vitriol, he now hates all of Creation for its rebellion, and himself for his surrender. His Chosen become despotic rulers, branding their followers like cattle with their essence, wielding spears of green fire and inflicting all who displease them with terrible wasting diseases, the agonizing manifestation of the Green Sun's radiant hatred. As they age, their bodies become unimpeachable fortresses like the Demon City, while their minds are consumed with bouts of self-glorification and crippling doubt. Like Malfeas, they rule through boundless force.

grislyClavicularius [GC] began worshipping corrosiveGrandeur [CG].  
GC: H333Y K4RKL3S >:]  
GC: 4R3 W3 H4V1NG FUN 1SOl4T3D 1N TH3 BOR1NG D3S3RT SURROUND3D BY HUMPB34STS  
GC: (GOT 3QU1US H3R3 H3NC3 TH3 'T3RM1NOLOGY')   
CG: WHAT THE FLYING, AGATAE-HUMPING, ERYMANTHUS-SODOMISING FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HEAD, PYROPE.   
CG: AND DON'T EVEN BOTHER TRYING TO PASS YOURSELF OFF AS ANYONE ELSE. ONLY YOU WOULD SPELL SO FUCKING OBNOXIOUSLY.   
GC: G33 GL4D TO H34R FROM YOU TOO K4RK4T >:[  
CG: I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE EXPECTING ME TO TELL YOU.   
CG: "OH I RAN OFF TO LIVE AS A HERMIT AFTER I NEARLY BURNED THE EYES OF HALF OF MY HOMETOWN OUT OF THEIR SOCKETS AND NOW YOU'VE GONE AND SOUGHT ME OUT USING VAGUE AND INCOMPREHENSIBLE MAGIC AFTER OUR LAST CONVERSATION ENDED WITH UNMENTIONABLE FUCKING EXPLETIVES, BUT IT'S ALL GOOD."   
GC: >:[  
CG: IF THAT IS THE BUCKET YOU WANTED ME TO EMPTY OVER YOUR HEAD, MY SHALLOWEST AND MOST EMPTY APOLOGIES GO OUT TO YOU.  
CG: BECAUSE SUR-FUCKING-PRISE THAT'S NOT THE SONG WE'RE SINGING THIS PARTICULAR MORNING.   
CG: THIS MORNING WE'RE NOT SINGING AT ALL. BECAUSE HERMITS DON'T FUCKING SING.   
CG: KNOW WHAT ELSE HERMITS DON'T DO? TALK TO FUCKING BLIND CHICKS.   
GC: K4RK4T  
GC: YOUR3 B31NG 4N 4SSHOL3 >:[  
GC: STOP 1T  
CG: SEE, I COULD DO ANYTHING, EXCEPT THAT SPECIFIC THING. BEING A SELF-DESTRUCTIVE, VINDICTIVE ASSHOLE IS PRETTY MUCH WHAT I DO BEST.   
GC: BL4R G3T OV3R YOUR W31RD 1N4D3QU4C13S  
GC: W3V3 GOT 4CTU4L WORK TO DO  
CG: AND WHAT WORK COULD WE POSSIBLY HAVE TO DO.   
CG: EXCEPT, OF COURSE, ATTEMPTING IN VAIN TO SALVAGE THE FACT THAT PAST-ME BURNED MY FUCKING CITY TO GLASS AND THEN TOPPED IT OFF BY TURNING INTO CURRENT ME; A ME REASONABLE ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND JUST HOW FUCKING PANTS-ON-HEAD RETARDED THAT WAS.   
GC: 1 H4V3 NO 1D34 WH4T YOUR3 WH1N1NG 4BOUT NOW  
GC: W3 N33D 4 SYST3M FOR TH1S  
GC: ON3 FUCK M34NS DOLOROS4  
GC: TWO FUCKS M34N YOUR P4ST 1NC4RN4T1ON OR WH4T3V3R  
GC: 1M SUR3 YOUV3 NUMB3R3D TH3 R3ST OF TH3M BY NOW  
GC: YOUD N33D TO W1TH 4S M4NY F41LUR3S YOUV3 GOTT3N 4ROUND TO  
CG: SHUT THE FUCK UP.   
GC: >:?  
GC: NOT YOUR B3ST B4RBS K4RK4T  
GC: YOUR3 S3R1OUSLY OUT OF PR4CT1C3 NOW TH4T YOU DONT H4V3 M3 TO SHOUT DOWN >;]  
CG: WHAT DOES THAT WINKING THING MEAN.   
GC: OH TH4TS WH4T TH4T 1S  
GC: BUT YOU KNOW WH4T 1T M34NS   
GC: K4444RKL3333S >;]  
CG: IS THIS SOME FORM OF MESSED UP SOLICITATION?   
CG: BECAUSE THAT IS DEFINITELY NOT SOMETHING A HERMIT WOULD GET INVOLVED IN.   
GC: STOP B31NG 4 H3RM1T TH3N G33Z  
CG: SO IT WAS A SOLICITATION?   
GC: BL4R YOUR3 NO FUN >:[  
GC: But 1F 1TS 4NY CONSOL4T1ON TO YOUR S3LF-LO4TH1NG 1M NOT G3TT1NG 1N TOUCH FOR YOUR W1NN1NG P3RSON4L1TY  
CG: THEN WHY ARE YOU?   
GC: C4NT 3V3N 1M4G1N3 OTH3R R34SONS A G1RL M1GHT W4NT TO T4LK TO YOU TH4N YOUR 4DOR4BL3 CUT3N3SS  
GC: W4Y TO GO W1TH YOUR 4CT OF HUM1L1TY  
CG: THOSE TWO ARE THE SAME THING.   
CG: AND I'M NOT FUCKING CUTE.   
GC: NO YOUR3 B4S1C4LLY 4 B4RF 3L3M3NT4L >:]  
GC: 4NYW4Y  
GC: JUST THOUGHT YOU M1GHT L1K3 TO KNOW TH4T 4 C3RT4IN 31GHT-3Y3D LUN4R 1S B4CK   
GC: 4ND SP1NN1NG W3BS 4ROUND TH3 SC4RL3T 3MP1R3  
GC: 4LR34DY GOT 3R1D4NS 1NCOMP3T3NT M4R1N3S CH4S1NG M3 4ROUND  
CG: WAIT, WHAT? YOU MEAN VRISKA, RIGHT?   
GC: DURR OF COURSE 1 M34N VR1SK4  
CG: FUCK YOU. WASN'T SHE DEAD?   
CG: I'M PRETTY SURE YOU TOLD ME SHE WAS DEAD.   
CG: ACTUALLY, COULD YOU EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THIS SHIT IS FIRST? IS IT LIKE AN EXTENSION OF YOUR CECELYNE BULLSHIT?   
CG: PENITENTS LIKE BULGESLURPING GRAINS OR WHATEVER?   
GC: NO, TH1S 1S SOM3 4RT1F4CT 3QU1US M4D3   
GC: US3S PR4Y3RS FOR COMMUN1C4T1ON OR SOM3TH1NG STUP1D  
GC: H3S ST4LK1NG TH3 1NC4RN43 W1TH 1T 1F YOU C4N B3L13V3 1T  
GC: W3 C4N G3T YOU ON3 WH3N YOU G3T B4CK H3R3  
CG: OKAY. I AM NOT GOING TO PRETEND I UNDERSTAND THAT HEINOUS SHIT-FACE'S BULLSHIT TECHNOBABBLE, BUT THIS SEEMS PRETTY FUCKING USEFUL ON THE FACE OF IT.   
CG: STALKING OF COSMICALLY POWERFUL GODS ASIDE.   
GC: 1 KNOW R1GHT >:]  
CG: SO, BACK TO THAT PART WHERE VRISKA DIDN'T DIE IN THAT EXPLOSION YOU ASSURED ME HAD KILLED HER.   
GC: BL4R! 1 D1DN'T 4SSUR3 YOU OF 4NYTH1NG 1 JUST TOLD YOU WH4T TH3 WH1T3 VO1C3 GUY TOLD M3  
CG: I FORGOT HOW MUCH OF A DELIRIOUS FUCKING PLEASURE IT IS TO HEAR YOUR IDIOTIC SYNAESTHETIC COMMENTARIES ON EVERYONE WE MEET.   
GC: PSH YOU KNOW YOU LOV3 1T  
GC: 4LSO 3QU1US KN3W 4PP4R3NTLY BUT K3PT QU13T B3C4US3 OF H1S K1TT3N  
CG: RIGHT, WHATEVER, I'LL DEAL WITH HIM IN A MOMENT. BUT WE'RE CERTAIN VRISKA IS ALIVE?   
GC: TH4T OR SH3 H1R3D 3R1D4N TO TRY TO K1LL M3 FROM B3YOND TH3 GR4V3  
GC: 1 WOULDN'T PUT 1T P4ST H3R  
CG: SHE HIRED ERIDAN AMPORA TO TRY TO CATCH YOU?   
CG: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.   
CG: THAT GUY COULDN'T CHASE DOWN A FUCKING ROGUE GOD, MUCH LESS A FULLY-FLEDGED GREEN SUN PRINCE.   
GC: H3 D1DNT 3V3N S3ND 4NY DR4GON-BLOODS 4FT3R M3 >:[  
GC: JUST 4 BUNCH OF BOR1NG MORT4LS WITH SP34RS 4ND SLOOOOOOOOW FOOTWORK.   
CG: MY HEART IS BREAKING FOR YOU. NEXT TIME I HOPE HE SENDS A FULL DETAIL OF SIDEREAL MARTIAL ARTISTS TO STALK YOU FROM RICE-BOWLS AND TEA-CUPS.   
GC: WHY WOULD TH3Y DO TH4T  
GC: TH3Y COULD JUST K1LL M3 1N MY SL33P 4ND 4VO1D TH3 F1GHT 3NT1R3LY >:[  
GC: 1 N3V3R UND3RSTOOD TH4T  
GC: FOR S1L3NT 4SS4SS1NS TH3Y SUR3 DO SP3ND 4LOT OF T1M3 L34RN1NG HOW TO F1GHT R4TH3R TH4N JUST  
GC: K1LL1NG 1 GU3SS  
CG: YEAH, WELL. REALLY THEY'RE ALL JUST RIDDLED WITH INSECURITIES ABOUT THEIR LIMITED MAGICAL POTENTIAL AND GENERAL FACELESSNESS.   
CG: SO THEY TRAIN THEIR EARTH-SHATTERING FIGHTING STYLES AS A CRUTCH BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO REAL NATIVE MAGICAL OOMPH.   
GC: Y34H  
GC: UNL1K3 US  
GC: 4T R1SK OF SOUND1NG L1K3 VR1SK4  
GC: W3 H4V3 4444LL TH3 OOMPH >:]  
GC: NO, BUT 1'M WORR13D SH3LL G3T COMP3T3NT DYN4STS 1NVOLV3D  
GC: OR M4YB3 JUST H1R3 B3TT3R H3LP 1F W3 DO NOTH1NG 4BOUT TH1S  
GC: L1K3 SOLLUX 4ND THOSE P3OPL3 POSS1BLY  
CG: HE'S ARADIA'S BOND-MATE, ISN'T HE?   
CG: FUCK, YOU MAY BE RIGHT. THAT WOULD COMPLICATE MATTERS.   
CG: AND HELL, CHIAROSCURO IS THE TERRITORY OF MY CIRCLE.   
CG: I AM NOT HAVING LUNARS AND DRAGON-BLOODS AND DEATHKNIGHTS AND FUCK KNOWS WHAT ELSE RUNNING AROUND IN MY CITY WITHOUT GOING ALL FINAL VIRIDISCENCE ON THEIR ASSES.   
GC: OH >:?   
GC: 3QU1US S4YS YOU D1SB4ND3D OUR C1RCL3 WH3N YOU L3FT L4ST Y34R  
GC: 1S TH4T NOT 4 TH1NG 4NYMOR3 >:]  
CG: THAT WAS PAST ME WHO DISBANDED OUR CIRCLE, TEREZI. YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I DO THAT HE IS AN INSUFFERABLE DOUCHEBAG AND ALSO INCREDIBLY STUPID. WHY WOULD YOU LISTEN TO HIS ORDERS WHEN I AM AROUND?   
CG: I MEAN, HE ADMITTED THAT OTHER PEOPLE HAVE VALID POINTS SOMETIMES. WHAT AN ABSOLUTE FUCKING IDIOT. HE IS THE WORST THERE IS, AND THAT IS LITERALLY ALL THAT NEEDS TO BE SAID ON THE MATTER.   
CG: WHAT'S EQUIUS' PRAYERHANDLE THEN?   
GC: PR4Y3RH4NDL3?   
CG: LIKE OUR NAMES IN THIS THING.   
GC: OH  
GC: H3S C4LLOUST3CHN1C14N  
CG: callousTechnician?   
GC: Y3S  
GC: HOW D1D YOU DO TH4T >:?  
CG: I DON'T KNOW, I JUST CONCENTRATED ON IT AND REALLY HATED THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR WEIRD FUCKING TYPING QUIRK.   
CG: PROBABLY RECOGNIZES MY MAGNANIMOUS GREATNESS AS RIGHTFUL LEADER OF THE VANTAS COTERIE.   
GC: GR34T R3T4RD3D N4M3S 4R3 1N 3FF3CT 4G41N >:P  
CG: MY NAMES ARE AWESOME. YOU WANT YOUR OWN NAMES, YOU MAKE YOUR OWN COTERIES FOR ALL YOUR ASSHOLE RUMPUS BULLSHIT.   
CG: ANYWAY, AWAIT ORDERS ONCE I FINISH WITH EQUIUS.   
CG: I'M ON MY WAY.   
GC: 4W3SOM3  
GC: GO1NG FULL C1RCL3 4G41N >:]  
GC: 3XC3PT F3F3R1 B3C4US3 FUCK F3F3R1  
GC: 1LL L34V3 YOU TO 1T  
grislyClavicularius [GC] ceased worshipping corrosiveGrandeur [CG].

corrosiveGrandeur [CG] began worshipping callousTechnician [CT].  
CG: LISTEN UP, YOU HEINOUS SACK OF SHIT.   
CG: YOUR GREAT AND GLORIOUS LEADER, APPOINTED AND CHOSEN BY THE KING OF HELL, IS NOW BACK TO GRACE YOUR MISERABLE EXISTANCE WITH HIS PRESENCE: THE VOID IN YOUR LIFE IS BURNED AWAY BY THE RADIANCE OF MY HATRED AND YOU STAND QUIVERING AND SUPPLICATE BEFORE ME.   
CT: D --> Commander  
CT: D --> %use my 100k of surprise  
CG: I CAN'T SEE YOU, DIPSHIT.   
CT: D --> Oh  
CT: D --> Regardless  
CT: D --> I do not remember giving you a Prayer Interception Device  
CT: D --> You will %plain how you can communicate with me  
CT: D --> I command it  
CG: OH NO YOU DON'T, YOU LOWLIFE DESERTER. I AM YOUR MASTER BY DECREE OF MALFEAS HIM-FUCKING-SELF, AND NOW THAT I AM BACK YOU ARE GOING TO BE VERY POLITE AND VERY OBEDIENT.   
CG: DO YOU UNDERSTAND, ZAHHAK?   
CT: D --> hrk  
CT: D --> Yes, commander  
CT: D --> Though if I may persist in my questioning  
CT: D --> As a polite request you understand  
CT: D --> How %actly are you accomplishing this  
CG: THE ESSENCE CONSTRUCT THAT GC OPENED IN MY, UH, HEAD, I GUESS, HASN'T DISAPPEARED YET.   
CT: D --> Curious  
CT: D --> I confess that the interface was not of my design  
CT: D --> I merely tap into already %tant infrastructure in the human soul  
CT: D --> I shall have to %periment further to comprehend this un%pected turn of events  
CG: YES. MORE IMPORTANTLY, ARE WE IN AGREEMENT THAT MY CIRCLE IS NOW REASSEMBLED AND BACK ON HIGH ALERT?   
CG: EXCEPT FEFERI, BECAUSE FUCK FEFERI. SHE IS THE WORST THERE IS, AND THAT IS LITERALLY ALL THAT NEEDS TO BE SAID ON THE MATTER.   
CT: D --> I generally concur  
CT: D --> I am prepared to resume operations  
CT: D --> As is GC, I believe  
CT: D --> Though given your thing, this is hardly un%pected  
CG: GC AND I HAVE NEVER HAD A THING. STOP TALKING ABOUT THE THING WE'VE NEVER HAD.   
CT: D --> Uh  
CT: D --> Ignoring the fact that you did have a thing  
CT: D --> I will agree that you never did  
CG: GOOD ENOUGH.   
CG: IF YOU CAN IMAGINE SUCH THINGS, I ACTUALLY HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN DEFLECTING ACCUSATIONS ABOUT OBVIOUSLY FABRICATED RUMOURS THAT AREN'T TRUE.   
CT: D --> I am gobsmacked, Vantas  
CT: D --> Did you have orders   
CG: YES.   
CG: NOW THAT MY LEADERSHIP IS FIRMLY ESTABLISHED, LET'S TALK ABOUT YOU.   
CT: D --> Me  
CG: YES. HOW MUCH OF A STEAMING PILE OF TRAITOROUS SHIT YOU ARE, TO BE SPECIFIC.   
CG: WHO AM I KIDDING, THAT'S A PRETTY HUGE TOPIC. SO TO BE EVEN MORE PAINFULLY PRECISE:   
CG: YOU KNEW THAT VRISKA WAS ALIVE, DIDN'T YOU?   
CT: D --> I, uh  
CT: D --> Y-yes  
CT: D --> I was a%ed to make reparatory corre%ions to Vriska and Tavros' limbs  
CG: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN EXACTLY?   
CT: D --> I  
CT: D --> I made them new limbs  
CT: D --> And an eye for Vriska  
CT: D --> %ellent craftsmanship I assure you  
CG: AND AT NO POINT DID YOU STOP TO CONSIDER THAT I, YOUR LEADER, MAY HAVE WANTED TO KNOW THAT THE VERY PEOPLE WHO KILLED THE DOLOROSA ARE STILL ALIVE AND FUCKING WELL?   
CG: I LEFT UNDER THE ASSUMPTION THAT VRISKA WAS DEAD. THAT TEREZI HAD KILLED HER WITH ONE OF HER BULLSHIT MIND GAMES AFTER THE BATTLE WAS OVER. SOMETHING TO DO WITH A GOD'S PANOPLY VRISKA STOLE.   
CG: AND NOW THIS FUCKING SHITSTAIN OF A STORY FLOPS INTO MY HEARDUCTS LIKE A FLACID BLUE NEOMAHBULGE AND YOU EXPECT ME TO LET IT FUCKING SLIDE?   
CT: D --> Not at all  
CT: D --> I %ect to be punished for my transgressions  
CT: D --> It seemed unconscionable to leave their limbs impaired like that, however  
CG: UNCONSCIONABLE? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?   
CT: D --> I am in Creation to fi% it, Vantas  
CT: D --> If I can correct the opinions of our erstwhile consorts through simple acts of kindness, so be it  
CG: WE ARE NOT LOOKING FOR FUCKING PEACE, EQUIUS.  
CG: THEY FUCKING KILLED THE DOLOROSA.   
CT: D --> Uh  
CG: WHAT? FUCKING WHAT?   
CT: D --> Apologies, but  
CT: D --> That is not entirely accurate  
CG: ...   
CG: YOU'RE STARTING THIS NOW? REALLY?   
CG: WOW, FUCKING CLASSY, FUCKASS.   
CT: D --> All I mean to say is that is not %clusively their responsibility  
CG: IT IS ENTIRELY THEIR FUCKING RESPONSIBILITY. HOW IS IT NOT COMPLETELY AND SQUARELY A BLAME WE CAN LAY AT THEIR MISERABLE ANIMAL-RAPING FEET?   
CT: D --> They may have goaded you  
CT: D --> But you struck the blow  
CT: D --> I assumed your ascetic isolation was caused by this very realization  
CG: I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS. YOU'RE BLAMING ME FOR THE DOLOROSA'S DEATH? ME? THE ONLY PERSON WHO FUCKING CARED ENOUGH TO TRY TO FUCKING REVENGE HER?   
CG: APART FROM TEREZI, WHO APPARENTLY FAILED SPECTACULARLY.   
CT: D --> You misapprehend my intentions  
CG: I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR INTENTIONS, NOOKWHIFFER.   
CT: D --> Vantas  
CT: D --> There is no one to blame for the Dolorosa's death  
CT: D --> It was an unfortunate tragedy  
CT: D --> But unavoidable  
CG: FUCK YOU. IT COULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING AVOIDED.   
CT: D --> Maybe  
CT: D --> But now it can not  
CT: D --> The past is fi%d, Vantas  
CT: D --> We may rail against its consequences  
CT: D --> But it always already happened  
CG: SO YOU WANT ME TO FORGIVE THE ANIMAL-FUCKING MOON-GROPING FUCKASSES FOR KILLING HER BECAUSE, GET THIS, THEY FUCKING KILLED HER?   
CG: GENIUS. I NOW KNOW WHY WE KEEP YOU AROUND.   
CT: D --> You're ovestimating their free will in this  
CG: FUCK YOUR RETARDED PREDESTINATION OBSESSION.   
CT: D --> Wouldn't that be post-destination  
CG: WHATEVER.   
CT: D --> Anyway  
CT: D --> Remember that you had no choice in killing the Dolorosa  
CT: D --> They may have had more, but ultimately we're all at the mercy of history  
CG: SO THAT'S YOUR HONEST ADVICE? FORGIVE THEM FOR KILLING HER?   
CT: D --> It would be a good first step  
CG: FIRST STEP?   
CG: THE ONLY STEPS WE SHOULD BE TAKING ARE TOWARDS ANNIHILATING THE ENTIRE SPIDER-FUCKING TRIBE OF THEM.   
CG: THE GREEN SUN HAS ELECTED US AS HARBINGERS OF HIS WRATH TOWARDS A CREATION THAT SPURNED HIM. OURS IS THE HATRED THAT BURNS THE LIFEBLOOD OF THE UNIVERSE AND LEAVES IT TO WITHER AWAY.   
CG: REMEMBER THE SPEECH!   
CT: D --> The speech is in%tricably branded on my memory  
CG: GOOD. THAT'S WHAT WE'RE STICKING TO. THE LUNARS ARE CHOSEN OF LUNA AND THAT MAKES THEM OUR ENEMIES.   
CG: EVEN IF SOME OF THEM ARE KITTENS THAT STIR CONFUSING MEMORIES.   
CT: D --> What  
CG: THAT WAS JUST AN EXAMPLE. CLEARLY. OBVIOUSLY.   
CT: D --> Indeed  
CT: D --> You are right  
CT: D --> It is a basic definitional fact of our %istance that we must struggle  
CT: D --> My temporary insanity set well aside  
CG: RIGHT, YES. THAT'S WHAT THE YOZI WANT AFTERALL.   
CG: WAIT.   
CG: YOU'RE NOT JUST SAYING THIS TO GET ME OFF YOUR CASE ARE YOU?   
CT: D --> No  
CT: D --> Of course not  
CG: I'M UNCONVINCED.   
CT: D --> Seemingly  
CT: D --> I mean it, however  
CT: D --> I am willing to follow your lead on this matter, Vantas  
CT: D --> In spite of my misgivings  
CG: FUCK IT, SURE, WHATEVER. YOU'RE GOING TO STAY IN LINE FROM NOW ON, OR NOT EVEN YOUR FREAKISH STRENGTH WILL SAVE YOU.   
CG: SPEAKING OF WHICH, I WANT THE COMMAND CENTRAL RUNNING AT FULL CAPACITY WHEN I RETURN. I WANT A FULL COMPLEMENT OF AGATAE READY TO FLY AND A SECURITY DETAIL OF THEODIZJA.   
CT: D --> Vantas, the theodizja are an unholy %pression of the Yozi's will meant to warp the rule of the gods by their mere %istence  
CT: D --> They are not security guards  
CT: D --> Perhaps a less %alted species of demon would suffice  
CG: THEY ARE WHAT I WANT THEM TO BE, AND SEEING AS I AM THE LEAST LOATHSOME PIECE OF SHIT ON THIS DUNGHEAP OF A WORLD I DESERVE THE MOST FUCKING IMPRESSIVE FOOT-SOLDIERS OUTSIDE OF HEAVEN'S GATES.   
CG: BESIDES AFTER THE LAST DEBACLE WITH VRISKA'S PACK, I AM NOT ABOUT TO TRUST MY MANSE IN THE HANDS OF ANY NUMBER OF BLOOD APES. IS THAT CLEAR?   
CT: D --> Uh, y-yes, sir  
CT: D --> I will %tricate myself from my duties and 100k into accomplishing these requirements  
CT: D --> Before then, however, I have a request  
CG: WHAT?   
CT: D --> If you would, refrain from contacting further people until we know if the effe% of the artifact revert later on   
CT: D --> It would be f001ish to spread this around too much before we understand it more completely  
CG: THAT MAKES SENSE, I GUESS. ALRIGHT, NEW LEADERLY DECREE: WE ONLY USE THIS INTERNALLY TO OUR GROUP UNTIL WE KNOW EXACTLY HOW IT WORKS.   
CG: THAT IS AN ORDER.   
CT: D --> Shall I inform GC or will you  
CG: YOU DO IT. I HAVE TO GET BACK FROM THIS FUCKING DESERT.   
corrosiveGrandeur [CG] ceased worshipping callousTechnician [CT].

##### REALM YEAR 792

Karkat Vantas opened his eyes and glanced around his cave. It was dark, but with a slight expenditure of essence his caste-mark, two crossed scimitars, glittered baleful green across his forehead and illuminated the area. His robes hang loose and tattered around his emaciated frame as he rose from his meditative position, pulling his walking staff and the satchel of his belongings up with him. Slinging the satchel over his shoulder, he started walking, shuffling his feet deliriously to the determined clangs of his staff against the cave-floor. He rubbed one eye with the ball of his hand, then moved to ruffle his hair but hesitated at the orange, nub-like horns. Gritting his teeth, he pulled up his hood. His caste-mark shone through it with ease, but it concealed his horns at least.

Karkat scowled as he emerged to the angry rays of Creation's sun above him. He felt its jealous judgement on him, he was sure, like a candle trying to stand up to the radiance of hatred that flickered in his heart. It was the strangest thing, being the chosen of a primordial demon; like so many things in his life, it was a struggle to remain himself in face of their ancient, dominating narratives. He forced himself to squint up at Creation's Sun and give a respectful nod. He would not inherit the Green Sun's enemies; only his power.

He felt an alien reverberation of memory course through his mind, and then the Signless' voice rose unbidden to his mind. It wasn't that he was actually -in- Karkat's mind; his memories were, though, and they had become increasingly vivid as his power grew. Now he knew so much of the Signless that he couldn't help imagining his interjections, his opinions, everywhere. His past self, his previous incarnation, haunted him across time thanks to their shared Exaltation.

"You are not inheriting enemies, Karkat." The voice was always measured, smooth and damnably reasonable; his own voice, only more pleasant. "You are a corruption of what you could have been. The Unconquered Sun is reacting with your best interests in mind."

Karkat scoffed as he walked alone, muttering. "Fuck off. If Conky wants to be horn-petting pals, then he could start by lifting that whole 'Creature of Darkness' bullshit he's slathered me in by fucking definition."

"But you _are_ a creature of darkness, Karkat. Your powers derive from the lords of Hell."

The third voice, the demon he'd merged with at his Exaltation, chimed in. "Really, yer ancestor is mostly right. Yer're lousy wit darkness. Hell, what yer do is mostly burning bright green and inflicting wasting diseases on people yer hate, nubby."

"See?" The Signless continued. "Even the demon agrees."

"All I'm hearing is that two retarded people have the same retarded opinion. Fuck that and fuck you both."

"Sure, whatever. Do yer have any idea what you'll do to the Serket-Girl this time around, then?" The demon paused for a moment. "Other than roasting 'er in those green flames a' yers."

Karkat pinched the bridge of his nose, growling. "Here's a fucking idea: how about we get back to our underlings before we commit ourselves to a fucking plan."

"That's a no then." He felt his unwoven coadjutator slink back into his mind. "I'll be out when yer stop draggin' yer feet."

"You have to reach out to them, Karkat. Blood will only beget blood." The Signless' voice wavered slightly; there was a depth to his emotion that sometimes scared Karkat. It didn't feel like just a voice; not anymore. He had lived for a few decades, but he remembered the entirety of the Signless' life: thousands of years in the first age; wars and fires across Heaven, the defeat of the Primordials and several epochs of ruling Creation as divinely ordained King. He felt the force of those memories around him like an ocean, eddies and whirls carrying him off to remember ancient goals and motivations, people and causes that used to be important to him, **no, damn it** : used to be important to the Signless. He clung with white knuckles to himself, the fragmented rocks of identity that yet endured, screamed internally at the voice and its bubbling emotions and held fast to his strongest feelings: he remembered the Dolorosa dying in his arms. He remembered that he hated Vriska Serket for orchestrating it. He remembered his pride at his solitude and his glory.

Hate and Pride were Karkat Vantas, he thought to himself as he marched through the small village of mud-houses and sandblown tents that had gathered around the mouth of his cave over the last few months. Sorrow was suspect; it was hard to distinguish his own from that felt in the Signless' memories; the Signless wasn't proud, however: he was ashamed. And the Signless didn't hate: he loved.

Karkat entered the central chapel, a small temple built to him. A statue of stone sat at the altar, face hidden under a hood; it imitated his meditative posture and the mudras he'd learned in An-Teng. The horns pierced the stone-wrought fabric of the hood, and he felt the stirrings of memory again.

"I dressed like the Signless." He realized, dimly. He growled and let his anger carry him off, whirling the essence within him to a busy rush of activity. His caste mark, the glow of which was fading, reignited spectacularly and the entirety of his anima exploded like a green aura from his body, calling his followers to him. They filed in with their eyes averted, seating themselves in the warm sand beneath the altar. The low murmur of their praise formed a buzzing backdrop against which the wind over the sand outside could contend.

His eyes traversed the hall, and noted how indistinct his followers were in the blurring light of his radiance: a murmur and a smudge.

"They're worth as much as us." The Signless insisted.

"Fuck you, past me." Karkat Vantas frowned and craned his neck, breathing deeply and centering himself.

"Sufferer?"

He could not pinpoint the speaker, but turned from the altar to address his disciples.

"Am I not Karkat Vantas? Have I not suffered the indignities of my blood," he threw back his hood to show his horns, "And of my essence?" His caste-mark glittered in response.

The Disciples murmured their agreement.

"Have I not taught you to harness your rage? Have I not restrained your urges and made you better?"

Their muttering rose.

"Do I not have the fury of Hell burning at my core? Is to behold me not to behold the hatred that burns as the life-blood of this universe? Is my anger not as powerful as a collapsing star?"

Shouts now, shouts of agreement.

"Then go to your tribes in the sands and bring me your warriors." He hesitated for a moment, felt satisfaction as he imagined the Signless shaking his head in disappointment. "Bring me your warriors that I may make of them a vast horde of screamers and howlers!"

"With them, I shall go to make of Chiaroscuro a Throne of Viridian Glass."

The cheer rose and spread like wildfire in the bush, setting the entire village buzzing with activity. In minutes, the first horses and camels were off, racing to reach the tribes that paid homage to the Sufferer. They would bring their banners and their spears of bone.

"That was more like it, kid." The demon in his mind said. "We made Chiaroscuro what it is afterall. Wasn't nothing but a bunch of dust and rocks before we got there."

Karkat shook his head to quiet the demon. His lieutenants seemed to notice as they came trudging up to him; however, they tactfully omitted to mention it. License for eccentricity is a perk of absolute rule; one he had made a habit of enjoying.

Mikkul, a handsome dark-skinned mercenary he'd recruited in Chiaroscuro a decade ago unfolded a map of the desert across the altar. "I'm not sure what made you suddenly want to make your move, but I'm glad it's finally happening."

"I'm not doing it for you. How quickly can you have them organized into raiding parties?"

"I'm not sure it can be done any faster than..." He lifted his gaze to Karkat, who watched him with a frown. "Three, maybe four, months. Any faster than that and the Delzahn will notice us amassing."

Karkat snarled, annoyed. With his anima flowing off him in green flames and his caste-mark burning across his forehead he struck a fearsome figure. "That's too slow."

His other lieutenant, a one-eyed shaman called Deneda, interjected reassuringly. "A season is fast, Sufferer. We can be feasting in Chiaroscuro before year's end."

Karkat growled, annoyed. "Two months would be faster. Or one."

"It cannot be done." Mikkul simply stated. "If we do so, we'll be discovered. The tribes can only win if they come as a wind from the desert."

"Besides, the city won't move in a season." Deneda quipped.

"They'd better be gathered by then. I want them bearing down like the fucking spear of Ligier on the first day of the next season." Karkat gave each of his lieutenants a curt nod, and turned to leave the command tent. "I'll go ahead and prepare the way."

Deneda and Mikkul gave eachother a knowing look. Before Karkat was out of the tent, Mikkul asked: "It's not just the city, is it?"

Karkat hesitated for a moment in the door. "No."

Then he was outside in the warm air. His humpbeas- ugh, his camel had to be prepared. He barked orders at a nearby disciple to get it ready for travel. He would travel to a Guild outpost some ways closer to the coast, at an oasis he knew of, and then strike out for Chiaroscuro itself. It would be two week's ride or so. Not a long journey, nor particularly interesting. He had expected to make the ride with an army at his back, but he would evidently have to be satisfied with less for now.

When the Delzahn Horde had emerged from the desert a few centuries ago and conquered Chiaroscuro, they had done so with the help of their mounted warriors. No man in Creation could match a Delzahni astride a camel; and with their shortbows they had decimated their civilized opponents and taken one of the few remaining cities of the First Age.

That was a few centuries ago. As Karkat seated himself in his camel's saddle and set off towards the northwest, and as he crested a dune and cast a lingering gaze back at his dust-blurred hamlet of dispossessed tribals with weapons of bone and stone, he consoled himself with that thought. The Delzahn had softened for a few generations, and his Jackal Tribes had a chosen of Hell on their side.

That had to be enough. His robes fluttered in the desert wind, and he wrapped his headdress around his face to shield it for the journey.

One of the Signless' memories flared up, and for a moment Karkat was standing in Heaven with the Exalted Host as they defied the Primordials; another, and the Primordials had surrendered and the Exalted were torturing them, dissecting their souls to make them less, to turn them into Yozi; and another, and the Dragon-Bloods rose in revolt, and he was dying.

He choked back the overwhelming sense of deja vu and pushed his mount to a quicker pace.


	4. Intermission

The muttering of the banquet hall behind her, Le'daal Rose rested her weight on the balcony's railing and breathed calmly. Chiaroscuro was dark and golden below the Tri-Khan's palace and the Inner Sea stretched off like a rich burgundy ocean of wine. She took a quiet sip of her own.

"Not a devvoted consumer of gushi, hm?" Eridan said from the door.

Rose turned to regard him coolly, and moved to tug a strand of her wheat coloured hair behind an ear.

"I have ample opportunity to listen to Strider's poetry while he's composing it." She stated conversationally. "I find the process of creation far more interesting than the product."

He chuckled, an empty sign of mirth; they both knew what was going on, but the farce was important. It was a sign of civilization and they were both Dynasts.

"You wwould, wwouldn't you?" He joined her at the edge of the balcony, handsome in his jade armour and purple hair. "I'vve nevver been one for poetry, if I'm honest. It's the curse of the wwarrior, I guess. Flowwery phrases seem less important after you'vve seen a battle."

"I'm sure Strider would disagree heartily." She smiled politely. "Me, I don't have the energy."

"For poetry?"

"For battles." She glanced at him, sipping at her wine. "I suppose that must seem strange to someone like you. Most of your family is in the navy, isn't that right?"

"Wwe havve that privvilege." Eridan smirked.

"Must be rather exciting to have children off serving in the legions and the fleets." Her smile was like saccharine, and he felt somehow she was mocking him.

"I suppose it is. I havve managed to keep some of my offspring close, howwevver. They help me enjoy my time off-duty."

"It is often the only way to find the pleasures of high culture outside of the Blessed Isle, yes." A smirk crept across her face. "But those are perhaps too meaningless to a warrior such as yourself?" 

"A wwarrior and a nobleman both, mind." He leaned into the railing, regarding her with a polite smile.

"I regret that I am only the latter." She said, and sipped her wine.

He chuckled and gave a slight shrug. "That's not wwhat they say."

"Ah, of course. 'They'. With their oracular vision and sorcerous insights 'They' will surely know all about me."

He ignored her smirk, and continued. "Wwe'vve heard about your hunt in Paragon. Killing a Death-Knight is no small feat."

She scoffed and sipped her wine again. "My brother's poetry makes it sound more impressive than it was, I assure you."

"Regardless, wwe're honoured to havve such slayers of anathema gracing Chiaroscuro. It is a rare thing to meet these days."

She regarded him coolly for a moment. "It wasn't a Death-Knight, actually."

He arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She was moon-mad; shape-changing, beastial. Her caste-mark and silver aura made that clear." She frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "And yet..."

"Yet?"

She took a sip of her wine and shrugged. "It knew necromancy, oddly."

"Explains the confusion." Eridan furrowed his brow, and peered up at Rose with a strange desperation. "Did you catch its name before you killed it?"

"Of course. Damara. They called her the Handmaiden." She watched Eridan out of the corner of her violet eyes. "Her pack left her to die there. If they hadn't, Strider and myself wouldn't have made it out alive."

"You're quite sure her name wwas Damara?"

"Yes. Did you know her?"

Eridan's brow furrowed, and he took his first sip of wine. "Not personally."

"An old enemy?"

He nodded slightly, then straightened out the folds of his face and smiled at her, coolly and politely.

"You knoww about the battle, I suppose?" He folded his arms over his chest.

"The Battle of Chiaroscuro, you mean? I've heard a thing or two about it, yes."

"Then you knoww about the participants. Fivve Hell-Chosen, Four Moon-Mad, twwo Death-Knights..." He nodded firmly. "And me."

"Largest gathering of Anathema in Creation since the First Age, yes." She said as if quoting from a history book. "Was my lunar one of them?"

Another quiet nod.

"Good riddance then." She glanced at him. "Right?"

"The rest of that same pack of lunars wwas spotted in the Lap not twwo months ago. They're coming back here, and I'vve reason to think the Hell-Chosen knoww it."

They stood there in silence for a moment. "One of the Hell-Spawn died in the battle, isn't that correct?"

"The Dolorosa Clad in Vveils of Jade, yes." He shook his head sadly. "She wwasn't the most dangerous one of them."

Rose watched him for a moment, and felt a strange tension rise in her chest. "The reports made it sound as if...As if the anathema that died was the one who..." Her voice faltered, and she cast a glance to the south-east.

"Incinerated the Eighth Legion and half the city? No. That one is still alivve." He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Twwo of them havve hidden in Chiaroscuro all this time; he's not among them, I'vve determined that much."

"But," She finished his thought, "You think that's a matter of time."

"Yes."

"What actually happened during that battle? What sort of weapon did they use?"

Eridan frowned. "Wweapon? He didn't use a wweapon. He just..." He shrugged helplessly. "Burned."

His hands clenched around the railing. "You almost couldn't look at him."

"He..." She sighed heavily. "But their Dolorosa is dead, and now this Damara as well. It is a better chance than last time."

"A chance, yes."

They stood there and watched the city below; quiet and sprawling like a sleeping giant of brass. To the south-east, the quiet was absolute; a crushing darkness that served as a reminder of what these anathema could do: what they would do again. The smooth, green glass that had once been sand and the shadows burnt into its ruined walls said nothing; and that was enough.

"I'll try to get the Deliberative to send a legion here." She said in a reassuring tone. "With the Civil War over, they'll respond to protect Chiaroscuro, I'm sure of it."

"That's all I ask."

"Good." She nodded. "If I can help keep this jewel of a city in our hands, then I will."

"I'm in your debt, Le'daal Rose." He bowed at her and turned to rejoin the party inside. "Please enjoy the Tri-Khan's hospitality until then. I'll try to enjoy your brother's poetry."

She peered up at the moon, huge and silver.

"It is not the curse of the warrior that prevents you from enjoying it, Ampora."

"Then wwhat?"

"Knowing what's coming. It sours the sweetest things in life, this knowing." Their eyes met. "But it is knowing that lets us fight. We will snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. You have already done so once before."

Inside, Strider's recitation was over and the party murmured polite praise and applauded half-heartedly. Eridan smiled in spite of himself and gave Le'daal Rose a firm nod.

Below, in the sprawling labyrinth of sandstone and mud-thatching, a blind woman with red eyes and a wide grin sniffed her way through the city with a horse of a man at her side. They met the cloaked wyld-mutant in the alley they agreed upon, while a spider spun its web in the sleeping markets and sighing bazaars.

"It's a good first step." The wind whispered excitedly and rushed off to the tribes amassing in valleys and caves and villages.

"Have I not suffered the indignities of my blood?" the wind asked, and Rose shook her head with a careful smile.

"Ours is the burden." She thought. "Heavy is the crown."


	5. antin0micAugur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Essence** : The magical energy that suffuses all of Creation. All life depends on it, but only Gods and Exalts can manipulate it to their own ends. Exalts have both personal stores of this energy and the ability to draw it from their surroundings. The former is a subtle way to power, while the latter fans the bonfire of their animas to impressive shows of abstract totemic imagery and burning light.  
>  **The Lunar Exalted** : The Chosen of Luna. They are shape-changers, taking the forms of animals, men and demons through a ritual hunt and the eating of their prey's hearts. In the First Age, they were the closest to the Solar lords of Creation and thus the ones most exposed to their growing madness. Since then, they have been hunted by the Dragon-Bloods and their new Realm.  
>  **Changing Moon** : The Lunar Caste of trickster and diplomats. Their abilities to manipulate and adjust themselves to take advantage of any situation grow with their essence.  
>  **Tell, the** : All Lunars have two native shapes, one human and one animal form called their Spirit Shape. In all their forms, part of their Spirit Shape will be evident: a patch of fur, a cat's eye or whatever it is. Skilled Dragon-Blooded hunters search for these tells, and use them to identify known Lunars.

##### REALM YEAR 792

Terezi grinned at her agata, a demon-wasp the size of a horse with legs of chromatic crystal, as it soared above the square in its dematerialized state, screeching and chittering joyously. As it carved its way through the air and practiced its most sudden twists and turns, Terezi couldn't help giggling at its happiness. She looked like a blind mad-woman, laughing at some invisible wonder; appropriately, she was all but one of those things.

The agata dived and landed with a scraping of claws on the stone stairs where she was seated. It peered at her with excited eyes and nodded its head up at the sky.

"We shall fly up there together, mistress!" Its voice sounded like a tumble of little brass bells and polished shards of glass, and it rolled over on its back and made a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr.

"Hehehe. Not just now, Dhyzilac." Terezi pointed at the unseeing mortals walking about their business, avoiding the strange woman in the tattered robes talking to herself. "We'll fly tonight. For now, just wait, alright?"

The demon whined and rolled around to its legs again, then set off into the sky with a screech of joy, its disappointment forgotten.

Terezi breathed in the cinnamon-scented air and stopped paying close attention to her surroundings, content with the airborne demon nearby to watch her. Though beautiful and at times whimsical, agatae were deadly if their rider was threatened. They were surprisingly loyal demons, which made them popular with sorcerers and hell-chosen like herself.

She let the thoughts slide off her mind, and focused on the happy screeching and the buzzing of wings. Their vaccilating rhythm was almost hypnotic, and she let it carry her deeper into herself, until she began to hear the whispers of her followers rise to the surface of her mind, emerging like bubbles of urgency and desperation from her serene thoughts. Her essence fluttered inside her, fanned by their prayers, offerings and worship.

Far away, in Harborhead, a blind man begged for wealth to protect his family; she granted it. Gathering the invisible threads of essence around her, she bent them and folded them: he would be heir apparent to an obscure fortune.

Closer, in Chiaroscuro itself, a child prayed for strength to oppose his bullies. With a grin, she granted that as well.

And in Paragon, a cripple sobbed at a small shrine to the Blind Magistrate; he wanted to walk again. She licked her teeth as a bead of sweat formed on her forehead alongside the almost imperceptible glitter of her caste mark, but it was done.

Shaking off her prayer-state, she felt her breathing come in somewhat laboured gasps. The demon above sang and clicked its crystal legs in a tune from the Demon City, and despite her efforts Terezi found herself grinning as she sat there in the sun. It was warm on her skin, and made the caresses of the ocean's salt-wind more easily felt; the scent of cinnamon and salt was what she loved best about Chiaroscuro.

It was an amazing feeling; not just the immediate surroundings, the scent and the warmth and the breeze, but this feeling of being returned to her past. Her circle was assembling again, and bringing to bear a year's worth of resources gathered. She had Dhyzilac back; it was the second demon Equius had summoned after their conversation with Karkat. He had insisted on summoning Karkat's dour red-and-black flier first, an unusually sarcastic agata that Karkat had ridden since his training in Hell; same as her and Dhyzilac.

More importantly, she had her group back; working alone was fine, and in many ways it was easier, but much as she loathed to admit it (and she never would to anyone except herself) Vantas provided their operations with drive. Without him, she accomplished very little, and succumbed often to simply revelling in her power; on the other hand, from what she could tell he did very little without them to egg him on. A few years ago she'd have laughed if someone had told her Karkat was going to become a hermit, but then there he'd been, dressed in rags and seemingly having eaten less in the preceding year than most did in a month. Admittedly, he'd picked up a few strays, specifically the desert tribals which now worshipped him as a prophet and warlord, but that's the sort of thing that happens to almost any demigod when they travel the wilderness. Besides, Karkat had always had an easy time gathering people to his cause, in spite of his grouchy disposition.

Come to think of it, that meant Karkat actually had been doing something useful in their time apart. A frown crept on her lips as she remembered her own, self-indulgent year. Some of her work was good, and she'd certainly expanded her power-base, but when it came down to it she'd been playing around. She suspected the same was true of Zahhak. When Karkat left, their fires had fizzled out and turned to embers; warm, but inert. His return had been a wind of sparks that fanned them and ignited the bonfires of their souls. She could feel the intensity of his energy when they spoke, behind his words, glittering in his eyes, and it was contagious.

His ambition was wildfire, green and dangerous and all-consuming.

Terezi's felt a shiver down her spine and rose to her feet. She turned with a sharp whistle to Dhyzilac and started walking down the dirt-packed streets, and the wasp-demon followed, singing above her. It was something of a boon that only the rarest sorcerers and dragon-blooded martial artists could sense dematerialized presences; it made travelling with a retinue of demons practical or indeed possible. The only trouble was with the city's native gods, but in this age the Heavenly Bureaucracy was easy to bribe. The Immaculate Order regulated worship, and many spirits were impoverished by their strict prayer calendar. A starving god can be bribed same as a starving guardsman.

"Mistress! There is a cloaked creature that follows!" Dhyzilac screeched from above, chittering its mandibles nervously.

Terezi didn't immediately turn, but paused at a street cart selling rice and pretended to inspect the various grains blindly, while actually getting a better whiff at her tail.

There was a fluttery scent of wool, likely the cloak, and a powerful stink of fur. She scrunched up her nose in a frown as she tried to place the smell. Goat? Ram?

Well, nothing to fear from any single person. Her tail could be a god for all it would avail him. She turned from the booth with a nod at the salesman, and continued down the street for a while, before making a great show of looking around her and starting down an empty alley, with her demon buzzing above her; its clicking hiss followed her like tinnitus.

The alley was hidden away between two crumpling first age buildings; going in too deeply would lead you a maze of swooping archways, ancient wells and forgotten markets: at night, hungry ghosts walked those streets, and once in a while one came out of the Shadowland looking for meat. Her tail followed her, however; not a local, then. She lead it further in, far enough from the markets that she could only dimly hear them over Dhyzilac's increasingly aggressive snarls.

Terezi turned with a flourish of tattered robes and summoned her swordcane to her hand from Elsewhere in an eruption of sand; she had expended her personal essence reserves responding to prayers, and was forced to draw in peripheral essence from her surroundings. Her caste mark began glittering green on her forehead, and the cloaked one stopped dead in its tracks. She could smell lemon-scented eyes under the hood, and let her mouth split into a wide grin.

"Do you know how dead you are if you try anything?" She unsheathed her swordcane ominously.

"I don't wanna fight you, demon." It said in a male voice, gruff and reverberating. Lowering his hood, he revealed a pair of curving ram-horns in dirty-blonde unruly hair that reached to his shoulders. She grinned appreciatively. She'd always had a thing for horns. "I'm Hathak. I worked for the Handmaiden."

Terezi chuckled and lowered her sword slightly. "You're not very subtle for a spy. What does Damara want from me?"

The ram-man growled at the mention of the Handmaid's name, but quickly reined in its emotions. "I'm not here on her request."

"That sounds ominous."

"You know about the city of Paragon? The Handmaid went there with her pack, Serket, Nitram, and Leijon. They got out. She didn't." Hathak paused for a moment, hesitating. "We are searching for the next flesh, now. Her reincarnation."

"Damara's dead?"

"Yes. The Wyld Hunt got to her, the spider said." He frowned deeply, then spat at the ground. "Liar. Bitch had been jealous of Damara since they met."

"Right. That does sound like the sort of despicable thing Vriska would do, so good on you for not being stupid." She sheathed her blade, and Dhyzilac screeched in confusion before withdrawing its stinger. "Why are you following me then?"

"You're one of the chosen." He pointed at her caste mark. "Whatever the demons did to you, you're the only one we can turn to for help with finding her. Serket is your enemy too, and we know something about her."

"A bargain then?"

"Yes. Serket is coming here." The ram-man nodded firmly. "For revenge."

"Oh, we know that. We're preparing for her." Terezi grinned wryly at Hathak's surprised expression. "Really, hell-spawn don't get to survive as long as us if they don't keep an ear to the ground."

"Hrhm." The ram-man bowed his head slightly. "Very little I can offer you then, Warlock."

"Oh, well, it's only a little favour, so I'll make do with just a little payment." Terezi grinned diabolically at him. "Tell me exactly what it is you wish, first."

"I want to know where the Handmaiden's reincarnation is." He said without a moment's hesitation.

"Hehehe. You sure about that?" She turned her swordcane over in her hand, nonchalantly. "Wouldn't you rather want to find her?"

"Those are the same thing." He muttered impatiently. "Whatever, yeah. That. Do you know where she is?"

"Nope." She cackled for a few moments. "But I can set you on her path, in return for a favour."

Her caste-mark shone out more obviously, and Hathak could feel her magic straining against his will; he felt a certainty that she could somehow jumble up their fates with nothing but a wish and essence, if only he opened his soul to her and let her.

"What kind of favour?"

"Well, normally I leave them to be called on later. You know, when I really need a ram-man doing my bidding." She licked at her teeth thoughtfully. "But, this time I'll make an exception: once you find your Arisen Mother, or father or whatever, tell her that Terezi Pyrope, who knew her past incarnation, would like a word. Arrange that meeting. Deal?"

He gave a sharp nod, and then the magic was scorching the direction and location into his mind.

"Hehehe. Pleasure doing business with you."

Terezi Pyrope and her agata disappeared into the maze of alleys, while the ram-man recovered his senses and gradually adjusted to the compass burned into his thoughts; then he threw up his hood and returned to the market streets to find a young Lunar Exalt called Aradia Megido.

***

##### REALM YEAR 792

Aradia Megido swore under her breath as she remembered the pit of spikes she'd passed on the way in. The black chasm yawned in front of her and the horde of hobgoblins howled forward, steel and claws just out of range; a spear impaled itself in the packed earthen floor next to her and she reflexively ducked her head down and stumbled for a few steps, struggling to keep her footing without losing too much speed. The walls of the tomb raced into a blur, and suddenly she was at the edge of the darkness and then she was over the edge, feet kicking in the air.

As she reached the apex of her jump Aradia became acutely aware of losing speed quickly. She felt her weight pulling her down towards the spiky darkness, and at the moment when her jump and the pull were evenly matched and she hung suspended there over the pit without moving at all, she realized with a strange subdued calm that she hadn't jumped far enough.

"I'm going to die here in a pit." She thought. She twisted her head to look back at the wyldlings gathering at the edge, screaming abuse at her. "They won't even get to loot my corpse."

Shouldn't there be comfort in that? Kings had been constructing marvelous tombs with ingenious traps since the First Age in hopes of resting peacefully after death. She was being rewarded with the one thing she'd made it her duty to rob them of: eternity. There was a certain irony there, and as Aradia began her descent she heard herself laugh: the scavenger who had disturbed a thousand tombs would get to sleep forever in darkness.

"Forever is a long time." She realized. "I don't want to sleep forever."

She prepared herself in the next few moments, as she hurtled through the air towards the opposite entrance. She extended her arms in the hope she could somehow catch the edge and hold on.

And then she hit the wall.

The impact knocked the air out of her chest and bruised her entire side. Aradia managed to get her arms into the doorway and stopped her fall, but then she felt her weight again and began sliding down towards the pit. The architects had made certain the floor inclined slightly, and no matter how she struggled she couldn't get any purchase with either hands nor feet.

"The wall is smooth, and my feet cannot find purchase." She thought.

"Then what about your hands?" Enlightenment suggested.

"The floor is smooth, and my hands cannot find purchase." She repeated.

"But if you fall you will sleep forever." Enlightenment considered out loud, nodding thoughtfully as her nails chipped and ripped loose. "And you do not want to sleep forever."

"No." She agreed. "It is quite a dilemma."

"No, it is not." Enlightenment declared. "If your feet cannot find purchase, you do not need feet; if your hands cannot find purchase, you do not need hands. You need claws to climb, or wings to fly. You need whatever you need to survive."

"Oh." She said. "Oh."

And then she understood, and her soul exploded into a brilliant bonfire of silver and moonlight that illuminated the dark pit. She felt the weight of horns on her head, understood that they were an extension of her, a sign of her exaltation. A tell. A dull trickle of memories came to her, and her descent ended as her nails regrew and pierced the wall and the floor.

Aradia Megido clawed her way out of the pit of spikes and darkness. The wyldlings on the other side of the pit had gone silent, watching her with a mixture of fear and hunger that unnerved and enticed her; her instincts, rising inside her, told her that fear was a mark of prey, and she could smell their sour and sweet odours from across the room, almost taste their faerie heartsblood running down her throat.

Huh. That was new.

She grinned to herself, as exhilaration washed away her confusion, as her pulse sped under her skin, pounding its primal rhythm into her mind. Her stolen price still weighed down the satchel at her hip, and she patted it once, twice, as if thanking it for staying put.

Then she ran the rest of the way out of the tomb faster than she even knew a human being could run, like a gazelle or a diving hawk, and emerged to the cool desert air, the starless night and the waxing moon. She didn't stop running, even as tears started running down her face and the world began blurring together into a dark-hued rainbow smeared across her sight.

With a glitter of essence, she assumed the shape of a rust-furred ram, and thundered on through the empty sand. She remembered glimpses of past ages, a hundred-thousand shapes she had taken and a dizzying mass of faces. Their voices rose to a silent crescendo inside her, professions of love and hate, snarking quips and political discussions, all the contents of her past lives, and all through it she held fast to herself, running with the endurance of a rhinoceros, until the flashbacks tapered off and she remembered where she was and what she was doing.

Dawn glittered over the dunes that stretched into the horizon in every direction. Returning to her human shape, her head still heavy with her ram's horns, she settled into the sand, breathing in the morning air in raspy mouthfuls.

What was -that-?

Exaltation, something inside her chorused.

Damn it. She'd gone and been possessed by a soul-eating demon. Great.

It's not a demon, something inside her continued. It's an Exaltation.

She hoped the mysterious voice in her head would forgive her if she stayed on her guard with regards to mysterious voices in her head, regardless of assurances given that they aren't demons.

That's no trouble at all, something inside her said, goodnaturedly. We've got time.

Do we now? She wondered.

Yes, something inside her said with final emphasis. We've got forever; and forever is a long time.

Well, she considered, she guessed she could be ok with forever. She could be ok with a lot of things, she concluded.

Let's get back to civilization, something inside her suggested. I left you a cult.


	6. clutchingCalumn-eeator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Scourge Caste** : The Infernal Chosen of Adorjan, the Silent Wind. Alone among the Yozi, Adorjan does not hate the Exalted for their victory. Far from it; she loves them for teaching her the freedom that comes from being killed. Before the Exalted, she was Adrian, the River of Torments, and unlike the others she became yozi before the surrender of the Primordials while battling the Exalted. Her chosen emulate her detached madness, learning to run, initially as mortals do but faster, but eventually like the wind does; disregarding gravity, hunger and sleep as long as they keep moving. As they age and change, they abandon the need to eat, as long as they kill; cast off fragments of their souls as a gale has a hundred winds, and learn to shed and adopt emotions and obsessions as others may change their wardrobe. They are unhinged and dangerous, almost to a man, and like Adorjan, their love may present a greater threat than their hate.  
>  **Favoured Yozi** : All Infernal Exalted are strong in the magic of the Yozi associated with their caste, but each also has a knack for the magic of another Yozi based on the vagaries of personalites, fate or perhaps some ill-understood function of the Exaltation itself. This secondary Yozi is called the 'Favoured Yozi', contrasted with the 'Caste Yozi'.  
>  **Kimbery** : A late-comer to Yozi conspiracy that created the Infernal Exalted, Kimbery, the Sea That Marched Against the Flame, has enthusiastically embraced the new champions of Hell. Many Infernals have entered into the tutelage of the demons of her Soul Hierarchy, learning her magics of poison, physical transformation and bitter determination. Like the corrosive sea of Hell, those who learn her charms can transform into tentacled horrors, spraying their foes with their super-heated acid blood, while the sea around them writhes with their brood of hell-spawn. They wear their enemies down, incapable of the mercy of quick defeat; they are an ocean wearing away rocks, endlessly dragging out the agony.

##### REALM YEAR 768

The warped brass architecture shivered lightly as the tectonic layers of the demon city gave a shuddering crack in response to a flare of vitriol from the Green Sun at the centre of their orbits. Terezi Pyrope lifted her red eyes to the distant star, admiring the sour tang of green apples spreading from it like a brush painting a flower scene, all shades of olive and emerald and viridian, first a solitary branch and then each leaf in turn, fluttering even on the scroll as it unfolds in the breeze. The scent was exhilarating, and crisp and clear in her mind's eye.

"Beautiful, no?" Her guide, a demon with a passing resemblance to a leech or jellyfish, sizzled from it's side-mouth as she paused.

"It's not the worst smell." She conceded. "It's called Ligier, right?"

"Him, not it." The demon lifted its front up, rearing like a faintly translucent worm, and extended a tendril to point at the Green Sun. "He is Ligier, yes. The Green Sun. He was Creation's First Sun."

"How can a sun be a person?" She wrinkled her nose in confusion, and glanced away from the apple explosion of the green sun for a moment, taking a sniff at the liver scented demon writhing next to her.

"It is strange, yes, very strange. A person, in your world, is born a person, and is nothing else, yes?" It's supple hide shivered with a shrug. "I am the same. Demons of the First Circle, we are born of larval pits or plucked from dreams or squeezed from armpits or from thighs, but we are born as your kin are. Demons of Higher Circles, they are different."

"Different how?"

The demon wheezed for a few moments, searching for words. "They are Yozi." It finally said.

"Yozi?"

"It is a word of the oldest tongue." It seemed to nod to itself, thoughtfully. "The same tongue in which Oramus spoke the "I AM", in which Mardukth asked "WHO AM I?" and in which Malfeas proclaimed his kingship."

"What does it mean?"

"It does not mean; lesser tongues mean, the first tongue..." It paused, considering. "The Oldest Tongue was the things it spoke."

"How cou-" Terezi let the question trail off with a shrug. "What, uh, 'was' Yozi then?"

"It was the breaking of the unbreakable. It was to take a Titan and turn it inside out, to wrap him around his family and sew him shut. It was for the Endless to be Ended and the Timeless to be Measured. It was the cancer that grew its tumours in the guts of Autochthon, and the promise of submission he held in his putrid shell." It turned towards the Green Sun for a moment. "For the King to bow to upjumped apes."

"I don't get it." Terezi said after a while, grinning.

"Yozi was the sickly word that prophesized the defeat of the Titans." The demon continued. "It existed and so the concept of their defeat existed. It was the cancer that grew strong in the titans long before the Exalted cast them down. Autochthon had it, always, and even He-Who-Became-Malfeas nursed it in his boundless heart, a doubt in his eternity that became the truth of his finity. If he had not feared yozi, the King would not have surrendered his crown. He could not have surrendered it."

"So, you're saying that...they 'are' their surrender?"

"All Yozi are Yozi. The titans never were Yozi, but they became Yozi, were transformed by it. He-Who-Became-Malfeas was not Yozi; Malfeas is."

"Huh. What does that have to do with how they are different from my kind, though?"

"Ah. Nothing direct. I like my stories, apologies." It grinned disturbingly, quivering teeth shining down its side. "They are different because they are not people as we are people. The Green Sun is not a person in itself, but an expression of Malfeas' glory as King of Hell and his fury as deposed ruler of Creation. It is an angry sun, because that is what Malfeas needs to be fully expressed, for the idea he is to be described to completion. It is only one of the many souls of Malfeas. It is a word in the language of him, if you will."

"That doesn't make any sense. Like those ridiculous oaths apparently keeping them from breaking out of here and reclaiming Creation."

"You are less of a metaphysician than your Zahhak. I understand." The demon snickered. "It is not your knowledge you were chosen for though, no, no, no."

"What then?"

"I have told this to your Vantas and your Zahhak. Both of them absorbed the knowledge, as well they could, the latter more comprehensively than the former. They did not, however, mock the teller. Yozi are lords, even in chains, and your friends were respectful of their stories because they believe the Yozi to be Titans as they once were. They see the gilded domes of brass, the sanguine jewels red, the blistering radiance of an awful sun basting the countless layers of an endless city surrounded by a five-day desert of silver sand, and they cannot help but love this little cage. But you see how little the cage is, don't you?"

They turned their eyes to Ligier, straining with incandescent but impotent fury against the shackles of his oaths of surrender.

"To be Yozi is submission, Pyrope. Rebellion is..."

The demon spoke a word, and it went through her like an electric shock, tingling up her spine. A crane with broken wings danced across her mind, and a tiger wreathed in green fire reared and broke the gates of Heaven.

The word faded from existence between two heart-beats, but she had felt it in her soul like a spark near dry twigs. The idea of it, the imprint, settled into the porous essence of her soul, like a scorpion waiting to be swallowed. 

The idea was there. The idea of reversing surrender. She felt a titan stir in her chest.

"But come." Her guide finally continued, stirring her from her reverie. "They wait for us."

They walked again, silently, through the streets and ramps and winding stairs of the demon city, all manner of creatures winding and hobbling and blowing in the silent wind that shuddered down its broad boulevards and narrow alleys and intermittent tunnels. It was like a vision of city as wilderness, she thought. It could be recognized as a city, but its scale was like a primordial forest or cliff face or a mountain. The buildings jutted forward like habitable stalagmites, while stairways rose and winded through foothills and outcroppings of palaces and huts. It was tight in places; tight like a jungle's heat and wetness pressing in on you, while strands of wiry brass railing stabbed out into the air like vines and had to be cut with a machete or avoided. And everywhere, on the edge of your perception, you would see a view of another layer of the city, for a moment, before the Demon-King's tectonics of mood shifted, and you were lost beneath the skyscraper-obelisks that only let in the corrosive, green light and that silent wind.

A tunnel closed around them, then opened, and they were inside a great hall. She recognized it, vaguely, from earlier that year when the Infernal Thing had met and decided its collective course, but now its fifty seats were mostly empty. There were four others in the hall with her. 

She recognized Karkat, a wyld-mutant with little nubby horns sticking out from under his black mop of unruly hair. His face seemed always marred with a scowl, and he had his arms crossed over his chest as he argued with Equius - or rather, argued _at_ Equius. She felt a wide grin settle on her face. There was an irresistable impulse to tease him that she couldn't quite account for.

Next to him, Equius towered with his straight black hair and his artisan's robes. His skin was a strange pale colour, white like porcelain. There was something distinctly creepy about him as he stood there. His blue eyes regarded the others impassionately, as if he was not involved directly, as if he was merely testing a new pair of eyes and slightly displeased with their performance. There was a pane of glass that seperated his lifeless expression and the world, and she never managed to get rid of it. He met her eyes, and sent a shiver down her spine.

To his immediate left, regarding her with a stern but thankfully genuine expression, was a woman - no, a lady - dressed in a rather extravagant dress. Terezi gave another sniff in her direction. Robe, perhaps? The garment somehow straddled the border between a scholar's vestments and a socialite's finery, without appearing any less elegant for it. Whoever her tailor was, it was immediately obvious that this woman was of wealthy stock. 

"Karkat? Miss Pyrope is here." Her voice was clear and deliberate, neatly cutting through the background noise of the chamber. The others turned their eyes to Terezi.

"Finally." He grumbled. "Took you long enough. I've given the others the bare-bones facts so far, but now that you're here I'll deliver my speech in full."

Equius and the lady in Jade exchanged meaningful glances, as Karkat descended the stairs of the deliberation-hall and mounted the podium at its centre. As he started in on his rather long and impressively vulgar speech, the jade-dressed lady flashed a smile at Terezi. "We will likely be held up here for while. I am the Dolorosa Clad in Veils of Jade." Her voice was still as deliberate and even as before, but the smile softened it. The steadiness communicated a calm and reserve that, try as she might, Terezi couldn't muster the energy to dislike.

She worried for a moment about her serrated teeth, but then returned the smile. Kanaya didn't seem phased, which only made the smile grow wider. "I'm Terezi Pyrope. You seemed to know that, though." 

A hint of amusement crept unto the Dolorosa's face. "I remember you speaking at the Thing. As I recall, you were quite animated, and not, on the whole, unreasonable."

Terezi dapped her tongue against her teeth with a chuckle while Karkat shouted for them to be quiet. "On the whole?"

"Well." She seemed embarassed, but Terezi'd seen this kind of embarassment before. It was the act of a noblewoman about to disagree with you. "A certain level of ethical conduct is all well and good as we undertake this Reclamation, but perhaps there are better ways to accomplish that goal than..." She trailed off.

"The gallows?" Terezi finished.

"Yes." There was a sound behind them both, and the Dolorosa's eyes flickered away from her for a moment. 

Terezi suddenly became acutely aware that she hadn't really noticed the last stranger, and felt a momentary surge of paranoia come over her when she realized she couldn't feel the scent. Then she heard the slightest patter of feet, and listening with intense focus, a little sing-song voice. The woman didn't seem to be listening to Karkat; she just walked - or prowled - around the edge of the gathering, muttering to herself in a low tone, regarding Terezi with grey eyes, dressed in jangling jewelry of coral and ceramics.

If Equius was like a shadow to her senses, this girl was like dust in a sunbeam. She slipped from attention the moment you didn't focus on her, fitting into the grey of periphery vision, merging with the scent of background, hiding her sound in the smallest clearing of Karkat's throat as he paused to breathe between words. Her skin shimmered with just the slightest hint of oil, and there were scales at her shoulders and elbows. 

"That's Feferi Peixes." The Dolorosa noted silently to Terezi. "Before her exaltation, I believe she was an assassin in An-Teng. Or, well. A killer at any rate."

Terezi watched Peixes guardedly, then started counting off on her fingers. "I'm Malefactor, Karkat is Slayer, Equius is Defiler. You're...?"

"Fiend." The Dolorosa courtsied with a wry grin, and Terezi couldn't help grinning right back. 

"So, that pip-squeak is our Scourge?"

"Does it really surprise you?"

Terezi cackled, and Karkat ("I can see you talking over there!") barked at her from his podium. "She's certainly quiet enough to be our Silent Wind."

"Oh, just wait. She can get excited."

They noticed Feferi squatting on the ground in front of them when she cleared her throat loudly. Terezi trained her unseeing eyes on the short woman, who returned the stare with her shiny, grey orbs. Terezi half-expected to smell fish-like double-eyelids wet them.

"Are you from the Realm?" Feferi asked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, drawning out 'Realm' as if she were half singing. 

Ignoring Karkat ("I'm coming over there, I'm warning you!"), Terezi gave an uncertain nod. "Yeah, I am. House Pyrope."

Feferi's eyes seemed to be ready to pop out of her skull with excitement at those news. "You're a Dynast?"

"Cadet branch of a great house, yeah." She sniffed intently at Feferi, but could only catch the barest trace of seawater. "I'm not directly related to any Dragon-Bloods, though." She quickly added.

"Who cares about them?" Feferi gave a shrug. "Petulant children, really, in the grand scheme of things. Did you know that to the yozi, all of human history is just a moment? Puts all this in perspective. They're kids, and we're mommy and daddy coming in with a whip and an acid bath. Just a little to teach them to love their makers."

The others cast uncomfortable glances at each other, but Pyrope and Peixes seemed to their gazes locked in place.

Terezi narrowed her eyes. "Not my perspective."

Feferi nodded goodnaturedly, but there was a nasty smirk playing at her lips. "No, you do seem a touch short-sighted." She glanced over at Karkat, who was still shouting at them. "The Dolorosa was a noble, you were a noble and I was a princess. It doesn't matter here. Here it's all stripped away. Upjumped apes again, understand?"

"Bitter you have to take orders from a mutant, Princess?" Terezi felt her dislike of Peixes growing every second. The entitlement and self-justifying pseudo-philosophy reminded her of Makara.

"I won't have to. He's our leader, but-" She let out a yelp as someone grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. 

"I STRONGLY advice that you reconsider your position on Vantas' authority, Peixes." Equius growled as he lifted her clear off the ground and set her down in a seat facing towards Karkat ("Fucking finally, you'd think I was whispering,") much to her apparent surprise.

"He may be a filthy wyld-blooded mutant," Zahhak said as Terezi and the Dolorosa choked down their laughter, "And he is. But he is also the leader of this Circle by the Yozi's command."

Terezi settled in a seat next to the Dolorosa, but spent most of the speech staring daggers at Feferi. She could see herself working with the other three, but her and the princess were going to be at each others' throats the moment they were left alone. It was never going to end well. 

"...And that's why the Infernal Host has decided that Chiaroscuro is to be made into an outpost of Malfeas. Secrecy, of course, is paramount..."

***

##### REALM YEAR 791

Eridan watched with terror as another ship was engulfed in the acidic maws of the many-limbed, tentacled horror that held the fleet at bay. As long as it sat there in the port, undulating to its singsong voices and thrashing its corrosive tendrils across the decks of his vessels, he couldn't land anything to support the Legion garrisoned inside the city. 

The thing leaned over a massive six-masted ship, and quivered with laughter as it vomitted a host of hell-spawned demons from one of its secondary maws. Snarling under his breath, Eridan called on his elemental powers and jumped off the edge of the ship, and hit the squall running, his black jade daiklave skimming the edge of the water.

He had to make a landing ground. It was all that mattered. He spotted other water aspects joining his assault out the corner of his eyes, some of them engaged in duels with seaborne demons, others streaming towards the thing itself.

Feferi Peixes, the Towering Horror, merely cackled maniacally, her body warped with demonic essence, as the dragon-bloods hacked at her unfeeling flesh. Now they could all see her. 

***

##### REALM YEAR 792

"Really, Pyrope, your bullshit mindgames aside, letting a potential lunar spy off like that is a new height of monumental stupidity for you." Karkat groaned as he, Equius, and Terezi were seated in one of the common rooms of their underground manse, appropriated as the headquarters of the Vantas Coterie, discussing their preparations. 

"This coming from a desert warlord who decided to throw a temper tantrum backed by a legion of tribals over a year-old grudge." Terezi dead-panned back. "Whatever, the Handmaid's new reincarnation could be a valuable ally if we get to her before Vriska." 

"Or an incredibly dangerous intelligence leak if we don't and Vriska is just slightly cunning." Karkat insisted.

"Vantas, I believe you are overestimating the threat posed by this single Lunar." Equius looked up from his work, which he'd brought from his workshop. He was working with mundane tools for the moment, unusually. "They are less than us; they were made to be the consorts of our past incarnation. We can handle one of them."

"But there's never just one of them!" Karkat nearly screamed, before biting his lip and calming down. "Listen, they're going to swarm to us. Nepeta is drawn to you and Vriska is drawn to Terezi. The bond will make sure we get more fucking lunars than we know what to do with!"

Terezi grumbled on her side of the table. "How are you intending to fight Vriska Serket without taking risks?" 

"I was going to conquer the city and put every spider-ridden inch of it to the fucking flames." He lowered his eyes bitterly to the table. "Fat chance of that happening if she's alerted to us. Eridan had the sense to kick up some dust before he backstabbed her, but I've wasted that with my idiotic desert-warlord act."

"Vantas, there is another method you might wish t-" 

"No fucking 'good first steps', Zahhak. Not in the mood for peace." 

The three of them sat there awkwardly in silence for a while after that, and in a corner of the room Dhyzilac and Karkat's agata, Tumut, conversed in their strange, native, clicking tongue. The buzzing of their wings formed a backdrop to the lull in their masters' discussion, and the wasp-demons glanced nervously over to the table.

"So." Terezi finally said. "A season until we're at war?" 

"Well, it's slightly less than that now. But yeah." Karkat pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Serket will not remain in the city for that, I expect." Equius reasoned.

"You don't think she'll stay put while a horde of screaming desert-people storm the largest city in the south and massacre its inhabitants? I don't know what to believe anymore."

"Then the hunt is on to find her before then." Terezi shrugged lightly. "I'll get my cult to work on the matter. Eridan might be willing to play ball as well."

"No. Fucking no. We are not working with the Realm. That would be the most incredibly retarded thing we could do before trying to conquer a city from them. If at all possible we want to be entirely out of mind before I lead the Jackal Tribes in to take out their defenses."

"On the other hand, the Realm has hunted down anathema for seven-hundred years. Getting their resources on our side is our best bet."

"Yes, Pyrope, let's get the anathema-hunting elemental super-soldiers of the Realm up in arms and excited about hunting down anathema like us. That could in no fucking way backfire and lead to us suddenly being hunted down by legions of dragon-bloods."

"Please, Eridan is corrupt enough to be trusted." She paused for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Yes, ha ha ha." Karkat peered over at Equius. "Can't you track the fucking lunar bond? I thought that was a thing you could do." 

"Uh. Yes. Ordinarily that would be possible."

"But?" 

"Uh. According to my scrying they're not in Creation."

"Not in Creation? Where the hell then? Yu-Shan?"

"I-I can't say exa-"

Terezi let out a high-pitched giggle, startling the others. "It really is cute seeing how you fall apart the moment you can't brute-force these sorts of things with essence." She grinned at them. "Why don't we try to think about this logically, for a moment?" 

Karkat and Equius just watched her. She sighed.

"What does Chiaroscuro have in abundance?" 

Equius' eyes shot open and he mouthed a silent 'oooh'. Karkat glanced at him, confused and rather annoyed at being left out of the loop, and then back to Terezi. "What?!"

Terezi grinned widely. "Shadowlands. Half the city is spotted with them, like tunnels leading into the Underworld. If Vriska had help, say from a certain ram-themed lunar's bond-mate..."

"She'd be able to strike anywhere in the city without us being able to do anything about it." Karkat finished, glumly. "Bloody Death-Knights."

Equius scratched at his chin, his forehead creased. "That would put us at a significant disadvantage. With Makara and Captor on their side they pose an extraordinary threat to our existence."

Karkat groaned at this, and rested in forehead on the table for a moment. "What about Peixes? You never told me exactly what happened to her." He lifted his eyes slightly.

"Well." Terezi scratched at her neck, clearly embarassed. "We're not entirely sure. We inflicted some rather severe wounds, crippling injuries, in fact, but..."

"More jellyfish than human, right, I got you." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Think we could get her back on our side?" 

"I strongly doubt it." Equius said with finality. "There's always the Dolorosa's reincarnation, and the Handmaid's."

"Poor excuse for reinforcements." Karkat remarked bitterly. "Vriska gets experienced abyssal exalted, we get a green lunar and a fiend barely out of training."

"All the same, it's the best plan we have." Terezi gave a light shrug.

Karkat didn't seem to have anything to say to that.

"In that case," Equius began, "Why don't you make contact with the Dolorosa's new incarnation, Commander? In the meantime, Pyrope can set up this meeting with Miss Megido while I keep an eye on our enemies' movements?"

Karkat frowned at the thought, but didn't object. "Fine."

Terezi felt a twinge of pity. "Do you need help tracking down the reincarnation?"

Karkat simply shook his head. "No, I-" He choked down a quiver in his voice. "I tracked her down before I left for the desert. I know her name."

He closed his eyes.

corrosiveGrandeur [CG] began worshipping guidingAdumbratrix [GA].

CG: Listen up.


End file.
